My father (1904 – 1992)
appears in a dream,
pouring massive amounts of raisins
around the doorsteps between rooms

The same night
I'm exceedingly uncomfortable
in a barren dream apartment
in Uppsala,
utterly lonely,
trying to call my mother (1911 – 2007)
on the telephone

I and a friend I've never seen before
begin tidying up the rooms,
starting to bring the rugs to the balcony door,
to shake them

I realize there's no balcony,
so shout to my companion not to step out, but it's too late,
and I see him disappear straight down,
at least three stories,
into the inner yard

I hear him gasp, and then call for help down in the dark,
until turning silent
I dial the ancient emergency number 90 000
instead of 112

Further on the same night
I step into my former workplace
at the police station,
from where I retired 2016,
sneaking up on old mates,
some smiling, others frowning,
enter the lunch room,
talk with a number of old comrades,
who tell me about their experiences
since I worked with them
One, who went to India,
is dressed in buggy pants
and a colourful shirt

I stretch, get on my toes
trying to find my old coffee mug
on the top shelf of a cupboard,
but can't find it, it's gone
I have some coffee anyway
in another mug,
with the feeling that I shouldn't be there

and all these dream incidents
tell me I'm off grid,
beside myself
and far into the darkness