And then the party’s over
It starts to snow, slowly and
wonderfully, the way I remember
it snowing on the white
house once. We have to give back
all that was our happiness, but not
its transformation into image. And its
transformations. Snow falls on the litter
and the streamers, snow falls on
the snow and some lights in the snow that whirl like
vertigo. Mild days, a small
stretch of water: We never really
noticed we had gone.
Tua Forsström (my tr.)
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