From a series of poems written during my stay in the Black Forest.
Sitting in the sun,
sometimes shaded
by passing clouds,
I was busy
killing time
staring at the flowers,
wild and alive,
between the railway lines.
All of a sudden,
a low lone fighter
cut through the silence
of this absurd place,
booming overhead.
How would the Augurs
have interpreted the course
of this strange iron bird?
I did not like it
for it carried
my thoughts to war.
From a series of poems written during my stay in Lapland.
Wrapped in silence,
I walk toward
the sinking sun
in front of me,
and all around
the world turns rosy.
A car passes by,
filling my nostrils
with something syrupy,
almond‑like,
artificially heavy,
while everything is light.
It does not belong
to this picture,
it’s so unwelcome,
yet it lingers
for a moment
too long,
before the scent
of puffy snow
takes back its place
right where Inari
and Sodankylä
shake their hands.
