The power lines stretched
across the kingdom of frost
north of all music. 

The white sun's a long-
distance runner against
the blue mountains of death. 

The sun is low now.
Our shadows are giants.
Soon all will be shadow. 

Medieval keep.
Alien city, cold sphinx,
empty arenas. 

The night flows westwards
horizon to horizon
all at the moon's speed. 

Oak trees and moon.
Light. Silent constellations.
And the cold ocean.

Selected haiku from Tomas Tranströmer 's 1996 collection, The Sad Gondola.

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