With Wet Fur In the Biomass
It is early Monday morning in Norrbotten;
the bed in the East Bedroom has carried me
through the night,
like a spacecraft
through the communicating vessels of time & space
Summer is erupting outside,
in the immense biomasses of greenery,
laden with photosynthesis
and organic life
at the insect & reptile level;
buzzing & slithering
The rain roars
with startling suddenness;
demands, in its self-evident honesty,
admission to my poem;
its presence irresistible
around the dwelling house's space capsule,
which has carried me safely
through the ambush-light from the north,
while roof-drips from different places around the house
drum in syncopation,
and the background noise of the total rainfall lends stability
to the soundscape
Silver the cat
has slept beside me all night;
is still with me at 5:55 a.m.,
fully occupied with grooming himself,
meticulously & pedantically,
a little way down on my quilt,
after first having stood upon my chest
for his ceremonial treading-in-place,
staring deep into my eyes
from only a few centimeters away,
and throwing himself onto his back with his paws in the air,
to have his belly scratched
Perhaps it is beginning to be time
to let odd become even
Next time I shall be seventy-eight;
a mathematical truth that is a fairy tale
with a truth content of one hundred percent
If I can find it,
perhaps it will soon be time to bury the hatchet,
let go of the pen,
close the notebook,
and fully enjoy the immense gradualness of the rain
with my whole body,
I think,
in the abundant precipitation of the fifteenth of June,
life stretched out within gravity
while I receive an anointment of thin reality
in a world war of photosynthesis, oxygen production
and hate crimes,
and hear the staircase in its white-painted semicircle
running up and down
between the upper hall up here,
outside the bedroom door,
and the ground floor of the lower hall,
where Silver the cat and his sister Cesi
now stand huddled by their food bowls
charging energy
for today's stealthy wanderings through horse paddocks & ditches
with wet fur
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-06-15 at 11:41
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