of late a sun
walks over the hill
and settles-in
bright light on
yellow facades
face the workroom
you’re singing in Swedish —
clear air whispers an elder
song so elderly
it defies humanity, we
must go, we need to
jump, no choice
you sing in the native
tongue, the sun
trickles through dawn’s
taut riggings and aligns with our
wily wounds, I imagine
you, across town,
another sun or a part
of this one by your window
looking out on the Bay
you’ve made coffee already,
you’re smoking a cigarette,
the nightingales are
somewhere else, all storms are
overseas, we are ever
on the Passage, day on day