The Boy Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Measuring all dark hills
the horizon can commence
the boy purges the passing
with one poignant word.

In a bird’s eye he dreams,
leaping at the winds revision,
the trees that takes his breath,
the air that gives it back.

Memories of old England
moves the eye through woods
laid bare to November’s gaze.
A frozen sea of naked hills
dares the thought to wander
deep into the steep hidden vales
of long lost summers.

Clean white water
runs transparent under soft stones,
feathery ferns call for a viridian indulgence,
hidden birds rip their bright beaks
into green soporific shadows.

Clear chlorophyll rolls like dark thunder,
cold rain dares the boy to depart
in a wet ominous sigh
just before dusk regains its say.