Gethsemane
Bob Dylan steps
into a wind-squinting Americana painting
Chronos opens his sinkholes
and the lutefisk-faced laureate
drags all his ages behind him
in the jetstream’s coiling after-sound
Kallax flickers below
Old tinctures are stirred again –
songs revolving, recombining –
the last dark sweetness pressed
from the bard
He keeps arriving in New York
as Jesus keeps arriving in Gethsemane
a stillness moving
and I, futile,
tilt the pen
into the weight of time
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-03-17 at 10:27
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