A clean and happy place,
A place of reason-
That is all I ask.
Somewhere safe,
At peace.
This is my life,
A small plot of land,
Which I cultivate
With diligence
And pride,
Striving year on year
To increase my yield.
The mute swan’s poise
Lures my powers to achievement,
The graylag goose
Mates with my silence.
Out on the dunes and marshland
And tidal flats,
I meet my sea-self, changing.
Clarity!-(Pure white dazzle
Of Sankt Knuds cathedral in Odense,
And superb lines of design
In the simplest object)-
The dragonheaded Viking ship
Wings over waves
To raid the shores of night.
Stone and water
Are my words, my breath:
The furrows of ripples,
The reflected world,
I sow with dreams.
All is silver artifice,
Like Tycho Brahe’s nose.
In Kronborg Slot
Hamlet paces corridors
Of shadow, and, playing
Chess with phantoms,
Puzzles over chequered floors.
Everything is too real,
Like a Dutch still-life.
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