The Trees (II)


When the North turns white
and the world is erased,

the sun still sketches
shadows of stone and fallen pines –
until grey silence rises
and swallows the star.

Then space dissolves,
time floats loose,
language breaks its chains,
and life stands naked.

That is when the trees return
direction,
distance,
balance –

when the earth is gone
they become the path,
gathering the lost
beneath the needle-mountain’s storm.

I move, and resistance proves
the world still has skin.

The trees give back my gaze,
my footing,
my way.

Without them I vanish.

With them –
the house appears like a ship in darkness,
a weight of warmth,
a door,
a fire,
an inside where things exist again.

Thank you trees.




Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin The PoetBay support member heart!
Written on 2026-02-20 at 18:54

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