Some mornings

I'm resting with the rest,

no pain,

sailing with the Earth;

my senses fully Earth senses,

my thoughts bare and even,

like the horizon;

fear just a word, four letters;

a four-letter word,

acceptance sweet like honey,

like light

”Here” has a dead weight,

undetectable

as long as I don't disturb it,

and the collected knowledge

& tradition

of engineers & craftsmen

have a house raised

around me

like a long-lasting thought;

a well intended gift,

but when I lift

the heavy Swedish-English dictionary

to within sight,

its density & mass balances

on the equilibrium of star clusters,

and I wonder,

- without letting it interfere -

whether this poem would've been better off

being cut short after ”honey”, after ”light”