In the light that enters morning
by way of the northern sky,
a Swede encloses a Finn in his arms,
absorbing her darkness,
softening with his smooth brow
the recurve tension on her lips,
ignoring that she took him for herself
before ever he took her as his own.
Unbalanced in their sufferance,
they spin out years of music,
children and, in some of us, dance.
Your sounds echoed in them
before ever you came
gliding with passerine suppleness,
songs hidden in your feathers,
landing with a husshhhh,
with a flutter, like a passing dove.