30. Seminar on Krakmaro
(Island off the coast of Stockholm)

Basalt bulges through the dress of green:
there she lies in sea of cobalt sheen.

Swallows twirl the twilight, lack of dark.
Yesterday I heard the song of a lark.

Clamber over wind-sanded rocks,
In the linger of light that cheats the clocks.


At every turn the sea appears,
when across the shrubs the view is clear.

Wooden houses stand on toes
of sturdy rock, outreach any snow.

Waiting in rooms, at the top of the stairs,
hang prim portraits of imprinted forebears.

Grandmother’s lace draped on the chairs,
graces the presence of wealthy heirs.

Standing apart in the studded land
leans an old latrine, with carvings by hand.

Hallowed by a tattered print of Christ,
ruminating above the pit of shit.

In a barn the scholars discuss, huddled in shawls,
against the whirl of wind that howls,

whistles through the slits of their wits.   

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