No 29
I laugh
at the idea of the ocean would be missing the beaches
that the butterflies would be test flying spring
one more time
I still inhale
what makes the tree bloom
later the last remains of laughter
descend from the woods
and the dead fly in the window sill
is filling the emptiness with an imagined humming
(29 from kjensla av at det ikkje regnar andre stader enn her 2004 translated into english by Hilde Petra Brungot)
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