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Emma Lundenmark


 

 Wings (into the open field) 

translation Mattias Forshage

 

 


 

 

threads strengthening the gauze of the skin

 


she’s floating on air

silently carefully tightly

 


white strands of hair against a bed


so time leans

against a floor

 


the mere shadows we are

barely touching

 

the seam

 

 

 

 

 

 

come closer

this mask

 

one dead

from a dream

 

leaving gravel


in a wind towards a meadow

 

 

reflected by the window

 

glass against a tree

 

 

running over naked bed

 


she is slowly singing

for your mouth

 

 

 

 

 

 

wonder how silently a fur can fall

 

bite the feet in place

silently

 

train through

the houses

 

and the group stood ready

 

to stumble through the shadows

 

wedge those eyes in place

 

 

wait while gravel

 

is rushing forth

 

 


 

 


 

 

 

 


 

 


 

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