A little later on, our own moon comes.

Then it’s already dark in Skåne.

I lived there before.

A thought here in the late hours.

Harvested fields of golden stubble.

Thick aroma of wheat.

A red lamp on the blue-gray sky.

The Moon of Japan  as it is called.

Japan in Skåne.

A bright red filled circle.

Here in the north, the moon is placed on an invisible shelf.

Above the treetops.

Scent of sap, birch thrush keeps chattering.


Mörtsal July 16, 2011

© Linda Åberg Luthman High Coast Poet

F: a Living Text.

Posted in Uncategorized

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