the work of mourning

she took the branch from the tree
salted the earth with her tears
as she wrapped it for the journey

she planted it in the garden
there between the spring flowers
the crocuses, the daffodils, all unseen

now she sits amongst the lilac blossom
the leaves whispering around her
it is not grief they speak, but memory

henrik nordbrandt

thanks to swiss for bringing this wonderful poet and beautiful poem to my attention ...


you resting in me

like a secret
sealed-up water lily
you rise through the dream
my dream
while i sink down into yours
as if we were scales
endlessly shifting balance
the heavier
always in the other’s dream.

i rest in you
like dark waters
in your mouth, drinking of your dream
like a figure of stone
farthest down in the dream
you bear me, your face
bends over me, turns to stone
over mine –
as a light increasing in strength
dissolves, so i rise again
so you sink down again into the dream
my dream
for the roles are now reversed
and i am your mother
you my child

only midway
when we are equally heavy, in half-sleep
when we are weightless
do the dream mingle.
there you are my lover
and my beloved. there
we are born

as we brush lightly.