The Boreal Night
pine, spruce, larch -
be my witness
as i lead this pack of wolves
across the taiga of existentialism;
i am the biome of conflicting identities;
my winters are harsh, my summers, mild:
i am the earth -
i am its plains, its forests, its rivers,
on which we graze, hunt, and drink;
i am the oldest of the conifers, the fir of might and age,
i am the sad, forgotten spirit, the looming apparition,
the boreal winds, the storms of ice, the murky sea,
the hoarfrost in the foliage of pines -
i am the spectre over moors at night, wailing the lost love,
and when i dream,
i dream polewards, and in saudade:
boreal night, lull me to sleep -
i can hear the ambience of the Östersjö waves.
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