The days are long and twilight seems to stretch. I wonder about the garden in the electric blue light, hoping for fireflies. The moon is overhead, 1/2 full, the light becomes inky. Almost summer.
The Night Shed Its Blue Tears
The night shed its blue tears
on grass and woods
and the earth grew cool and deep
beneath my feet
and I felt for a moment
as though a pallor struck my breast
and my bones were rotting
and I was seized by fear.
Then I thought I heard a low whisper
like that of a closing flower:
You are a spring a thousand years ago.
Stefan Hörður Grímsson
[from the book On A Clear Morning, by Stefan Hörður Grímsson
translated from the Icelandic by Hallberg Hallmundsson,
Útgefandi, Reykjavík 2005]
With thanks to Ravenna Taylor [link here] for this poem.