Still I can hear the wild geese flying,
one of them leading a child on feathered back.
The soft beating of wings, in endless rhythm,
and an old longing to follow their track.

The silence of the widening sky.
The years scratched in days on earth-surface.
A patchwork of green and blue with frayed chains of mountains,
and the black seaming of rivers, mazing through.

I’m weightlessly upside down in silence,
watching the bursting of sun and sea.
In radiant lightning, the search for guidance,
for healing and all the rest of me.

Silenced up I was hearing,
out of a shudder, trembling and dark, the sound of my voice.
It was speaking of growing, of love and be willing,
it was speaking of life and making a choice.

I was counting the silent infinite numbers,
drawing the figures, distort and complete.
Learning ‘bout earth and how to be human,
the cool laws of nature, and natural heat.

I found out how things tend to got broken,
or poorly repaired or get lost.
The wonders of keepsakes, treasures and token,
The stitches and sorrow and brushing the dust.

The leaving of buildings, and leaving people.
Searching for geese; skyhigh to solid ground.
Wandering the streets with the tender rain pooring,
taking shelter in thought, and sentences found.

Being rooted in silence, outreaching the stars.
Setting camp where the heart locates home.
A farm looming up in the fog of times past,
of lives lived and their history gone.

The early crossing of temptations and feelings.
The forest leans over the sandy path at night.
Being driven and devoured by one's own fuel,
and rising again from ashes to light.

To cross the lonely flight of an eagle,
escaping silently and proud.
To part again but never forget,
what was there almost out loud.

Silence.
The horizon tilts as I’m approaching.
The harsh winds lay down to their trail.
What am I?
The waving, the sea, or just the tiny sail?

A ship's doctor dies at the same land from which
another poet flees, to perish in the waves,
nearby a stony island with high rocks needling up,
like statues, and bowed caves.

The blessing of being not aware of times ahead,
when picking up an island rock.
The dim sound of dead when lay it down later,
in a long wooden box and closing the lock.

For ever.

After that a long lasting silence.
An empty sky above the beach.
Listen to the full presence of absence,
and watching bare nothingness to bleach.

A soft fall when I got up.
Finally. Ashes on sand. The fire almost out.
Feathering in faded colours.
The dreading heart goes fast and loud.

A sound like breathing breaks the silence.
Approaching slowly from above.
But with my eyes closed I sense a long lost wingbeat,
in black and white it’s love.

It takes its time descending,
but suddenly it’s there.
A force so strong it’s blowing
at once all shades in flare.
Playing all cards and still stake raising
swirls in alliance the strangest pair.