In the middle of life, death comesto take your measurements. The visitis forgotten and life goes on. But the suitis being sewn on the sly.
~ Tomas Tranströmer
It is still beautiful to hear the heart beatbut often the shadow seems more real than the body.
I wrote so meagerly to you. But what I couldn't write swelled and swelled like an old-fashioned airship and drifted away at last through the night sky.
I carry inside myself my earlier faces, as a tree contains its rings.
Death stoops over me.I'm a problem in chess. Hehas the solution.
No one decides where I go, least of all myself, though each step is where it must be.
Society's dark hull drifts further and further away. It is this place - the place of our separation, our distinction - that much of his poetry occupies.
