On my way to work
8.16
A flock of jackdaws sweeps blackly
across chill morning sky — a hinted sunrise.
After fending off trees and the bodies of houses,
they glue themselves on rustling wings
among bare branches of a large beech.
8.34
The sun hauls itself into the treetops
and licks up shadow off the ground.
Sunsparks flash in the birds’ sober blue eyes:
it is so beautiful to be awake.
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A blue tit’s visit
A blue tit dropped in yesterday
to say hello,
all thumping heart and eager wings.
It sat there on the kitchen table
swivelling its head as I approached
after opening the balcony door.
We nodded to each other, and then it flew off
back to its own kind, all thumping heart —
that was yesterday. And tomorrow will come
on eager wings.
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Spring-turning
when the wood flute becomes tree once more
the leaves will come to turn towards that striking-point
the same way the wind turns gold in the network of branches
and sings itself green green green with the same tune
filling the blackbird’s breast with slanting red sun
Stefan Albrektsson Poesi 