morning in Tånebro

White fur flashes across the farmyard fence
Submerging in the verdant sea
                   we must let go.

Let me mourn the uninterrupted fields,
Dream of the days when crops should roll in uniform waves,
                  windmills turn over the same grain.

Willow trees divide the land like schoolboys in a row
Leaning, swaggering, splitting open with laughter under unkempt branches,
                   they break the line.

Let go of the quiet amusement of socks ochre as the rapeseed,
Patches of a quilt sewn by steel oxen
                  too heavy for the worms.

Sticky fingers make blue heaven real,
Betray the glass by marking it with child's play,
                  easing me into what must come. 

As this old farming village moltens,
A bench sags like a worn row of teeth grinning at the dandelions
                     we can trust when we are gone.

On a morning walk in the old farming village of Tånebro in Skåne, Sweden.