In the chilly early May morning
I rise earlier than usual
walking the dirt road to the lake,
glimpsing the sun through
stands of trees and birdsong.

You said "When I look at your smile
and this nature, it seems to me
that our planet is perfect."

I sit by the shore
without thinking,
a merganser swims close
eyeing me

Eddies form in the trace of my oars
rowing along the northern shore

lost in thoughts of you
and the mirroring sky

a sharp thump
and scraping
striking the sole known underwater stone

Taking a slow stroll in the woods,
the west wind tears at the trees

I listen to my breathing
and each thought—
but nothing is new

I come to a clearing
and remain there awhile

a flock of wood pigeons circles in
landing briefly in one of the oaks,
then taking off again

Concealing your body
with a small cloth

you turn away
as if called—

I am slowly undone

you don’t need to be naked

only whisper,
even through a tiny reed straw

barefoot in the kitchen
sunbeams tickling feet
in the quiet summer morning

poems are not weapons
perhaps more like a cup of hot coffee
carefully carried outside
to catch the early light

”I am a little worried
because I am being warned by intelligence
that this
or the next night
may not be completely
peaceful”

here no clouds in the sky

Sneaking up at night
growling—trilling
a musky whiff

come

head in your lap
paws kneading
curling up
purring—

days of clear skies, nights with thunder

”at night heavy rains
sometimes explosions mixed with thunder,
and occasionally not completely clear
whether it is the sky and thunder or explosions”

me on the porch looking up

cirrus clouds
two ospreys
whistling
soaring

Me in the forest
close to the shore,
head and body
against a spruce

listening
maybe you are there

tears dripping
the resin

fragrance
of spruce
and the sound of
soft wavelets lapping

on the outer skerries
sunset in my back
looking into the open sky
on the rounded cliff
facing south-east
Baltic horizon

watching out for drones
investigations
“I don’t remember when it wasn’t urgent”
nearby explosions

three arctic terns chasing each other
diving from high, down close
and screeching

first twilight stars

You in your Gaz Volga
arriving at a crime scene,
your hooded parka,
a slight, knowing grin

I stir my soup
by my hearth
here on the island,
where no crime
has been committed
as long as anyone
can remember

for now far from each other

your mouth
finds mine
as if by accident

I feel
a lineage awake in you

women who knew
how power moves
with and without force

I learn
how sound leaves me
how obedience
can feel like choice

you take me
I take you
and the night
changes shape

fire,
and the danger of it

we forget
until we are everywhere

the sky still there
as if nothing happened

we watch
we listen
attentive

This small row-boat
just large enough
for one oar each

drifting into a sandy bay
the sun slowly sinking

“when we get off the boat,
we’ll be on the same sand”

still a long way from each other

Your call
would travel lightly,

covering distance

through war
and weather,

over bodies of water

and arrive here

landing like a small, furry animal

inside me

On the handrail

of our rusty ferry

first days of April
the ice‑blue wagtail arrives

lilting
tsee‑lít

then on top of the wheelhouse
as if nothing had happened

a nest
by the noisy old diesel

until late August
leaving south again

clouds moving low
over the lake and the island

“you live in a country
where you can safely look at the sky
and don't need to react
to air raid alerts 24/7”

I sit on the porch
looking at stratus clouds
a slight wind
rustling the aspens
rain in my face

Holding you
in my mind

like a bat in the attic
with its wings
around itself

at dusk
fluttering
into the night sky

The ferry glides in its own noisy way
through the ice channel

the neighbouring couple with their infant
gift me orange-yellow tulips
for the ride

before parting we stay
a moment
in darkness
under stars

In early spring
more insects gather
inside my house
than outside

lacewings, midges, flies

sometimes I consider
a mosquito net
but never
put one up

leaving it to the spiders

Sitting here at the base of a pine,
feeling its roots moving under me

a white and blue face
comes flinging at me

a jay lands
an arm’s length away,
its head feathers erect

looking me straight in the eye

Along the dirt road
I take care not to step
on outstretched earthworms
in the drizzling early light

and wonder
where they are heading

then I drift into the forest
blue and longing

a pair of ravens overhead
side-by-side
making loops
and turning over their wings

finally I find their nest
hidden high in a fir

After returning
from the Baltic archipelago
I row in the stillness,
of the lake at dusk,
black-throated loon
whistling and wailing
at a distance

in the western sky
Jupiter and Venus
side-by-side
seemingly moving
towards each other

”I will also look out the window
into the darkness here
and look at the stars
maybe you and I will look
at the same star
and think about the very same thing”

at dawn
the song thrush counting notes
atop a high spruce

and the shimmer
of a robin
somewhere
behind the cabin

“on my way to work
I walked past a burning gas station
that had been hit by a missile
there are also many civilian casualties”

first thing
I wash my hands
and splash my face

water from the lake
still coming
out of the tap

In the morning frost
long pine shadows
over the field

Mahler’s Fifth Symphony
filling my room

a crane
flaps heavily by
looking in

I like my little house
in its simplicity
and with its inconveniences

it doesn't even have
a functioning lock,
it's always open

I gave you the key to me

Sitting behind my house
sheltering from the wind
with thirsty mosquitoes

“there was another air raid at night,
still heavy until morning
rumors circulating about another serious attack
we saw a lot of equipment on the borders again
so we need to stock up on provisions and medicines”

it's surprisingly quiet today
except the large aspens
beside my house
new leaves
trembling
in the fresh westerly wind

and fir cones
puffing clouds of pollen
sometimes mistaken
for forest fires

Sometimes birds
simply don’t do it

a single
distant note

or
a faint wing print
in the new snow

no showing up,
no song,
no hiding,
no path

After our first phone call
slightly formal,
I walk dazed
to the other side of the island
in a clearing
I lie down
on a bed of white anemones
today
the willow warbler
has arrived

My neighbour’s cat Lily,
hissing and clawing,
had to be relocated
to the stable

meowing and yearning
although the bowl
was always full,
lounging
in the easy chair

at night,
prowling under my house,
I let her in for a light snack

soft bare feet
and lavender mornings

squinting
in last light
footprints fading in wet sand

waves one after another
whispering
bursting bubbles

no mermaids or sirens
only hushed
out and in
breaths
of porpoises and dolphins
in calm seas

Gently approaching
the cow
anxiously eyeing us

her newborn calf
bawling loudly
as I catch and hold it

Friede’s tagging pliers jamming

and his family watching
from the four-wheeler

I lose balance
falling sideways
releasing the calf

the cow snorts
head low
kicking dust
charges
again
a hoof stepping
on my ribcage
as I roll away