PROCRIS Poem by Tua Birgitta Forsström

PROCRIS



You mistake someone for an animal and kill the animal
That's how it happens in the forest, that's all there is to it
I woke up from an eroded embrace and a dream
about how minerals should be stored: the sun won't
injure them, the moon won't injure them.
There was frost in the grass and the sea had frozen over.
Who writes the murky law?

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