I Up they soar, the planet's butterflies, pigments from the warm body of the earth, cinnabar, ochre, phosphor yellow, gold a swarm of basic elements aloft. Is this flickering of wings only a shoal of light particles, a quirk of perception? Is it the dreamed summer hour of my childhood shattered as by lightning lost in time? No, this is the angel of light, who can paint himself as dark mnemosyne Apollo, as copper, hawkmoth, swallowtail. I see them with my blurred understanding as feathers in the coverlet of haze in Brajcino Valley's noon-hot air.
Inger Christensen - 1935-2009
3 cicadas exist; chicory, chromium citrus trees; cicadas exist; cicadas, cedars, cypresses, the cere- bellum 4 doves exist, dreamers, and dolls; killers exist, and doves, and doves; haze, dioxin, and days; days exist, days and death; and poems exist; poems, days, death