Under the Hawk's Cry
I have not raised my eyes for a long time;
walked & stared in the undergrowth –
but suddenly the hawk cries out
high above the trees,
& the landscape around me is changed;
worn, wrinkled, forward-leaning –
& soon it comes to an end
in the direction’s weary lostness;
an old forest thinning out
into empty nothingness;
my feet gurgling deep down there
in worn-out bogs & marshes
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2026-09-20 at 10:53
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
