Born In Water Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Born in water of slow dark extinction,
shaped in my old mother’s agony,
I care not for all that gloom
that fills the eye’s see through lapses,
that leads to the end of corporal pain.

I walk not in any day’s peace,
nor in the wicker basket sun
that rolls across vast feathery fields,
hen shaped and slowly dieing
as my eyes fold them into goodbye.

Mother of pearl is my morning,
The smells of watery decay and salt
that mount the sea with pain and thistle ache,
the serpent sea that grinds the minute sand,
the stray dog growling at the beach.