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Suites for Solo Cello (IV)

Propped in the dawn bed,
knees drawn,
the gate of the Iliad closed within my skull –

the house a drone,
the world sufficient,

and Pablo Casals’ violoncello
speaking stringent
from its abyss

A concert hall without witnesses.
All seats awaiting

All thought
held in the Suites –

driving storm-towers
from the August sea,

setting auroras in motion
across midwinter sky,

as blood ascends,
cardiovascular,

through uprisings
and appropriations

Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin