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.