Sidetracks XIII

another boy pieces together a map of the world

there is another sort of color to language

I drink another cup of wine with my shadow

with my lover share another bed out to sea

cold currents reach another harbor

my hands let fly another letter

Oslo     Stockholm

Aarhus     Copenhagen

under the ever-shifting Scandinavian skies

looking for another sun

to taste a little sugar or salt or arsenic

the ceaseless chatter of the snow is a tyrant’s promises

Poul Borum, my judge

escorts me—misfortune’s shadow

who looks for a happy scarecrow

on poetry’s ancient map

both of us squeeze tightly into the elevator

descend     but no inferno awaits us

in a French restaurant in Copenhagen

a waiter reserves another sunrise

opens up red-wine sunlight underground

cigars like locomotives

a huge metal earring dangles from Poul’s right lobe

twinkling twinkling     through the fog in a dream

yes, I’ve fallen asleep

at the distance from a desk or the Mainland

insomnia is another measure of eternity

the mirror reflects the master of homesickness

Chinese—northern lights in exile

a rooster practices breaking dawn

scale the heights of drinking

lightning leads to the ancestors of the tree roots

let firewood declare its impoverished blaze

what is witnessed is the passion of destruction

write the first line on white paper

the snows a spiritual leader on strike

Aarhus is another birthplace

every day fate knocks on my door

take a walk     turn around after that tree

patients wait for the sun to rise

one after another leave empty chairs on the beach

April 4, 1990

I stay overnight at the blue house

Tomas Tranströmer plays the Baltic Sea

the black keys he presses down make no sound

an owl calls through the night

and meets another sleepwalker

the new century adds another morning

Tomas takes me mushrooming

it’s raining he leads the way through the forest

uses a small military knife to scoop out the fruiting fungus

swiftly spits some out: poisonous