Diagonals.

The scent of chlorine.

I must have slept since I wake up.

The head and the neck are yet another experience.


February.
The birds weigh almost nothing.
In a park, right near Vasaplatsen, there is a
tree—one can see it from the streetcar—whose heavy branches appear
to strive downward, towards the ground.
I must always be the one who is consoled.

Translated from Swedish by Jennifer Hayashida