Night Vision Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Glowing through insidious times,
suspended like a flock of herons
turning their curved, beady beaks
towards the final surf,
the old man dives
for a glimpse of mercy
in harnessed night.

Calamities like holy shadows
toll for the witness’ eye.
Weight fills recollections of the past
with more than regret.

Cry you hollow man;
the wind is in your shoes.

There is no one to follow you.

The echo of circular water
bleeds like sand in a tumbler.