THE ENGRAVER Poem by Cecilie Løveid

Once we could interpret all signs
It was not a dream, but resembling one.
We were magicians, we could interpret
the hand which moved to a position
the word which hit home.
We knew what it means to pour with
the left hand. What everything meant. What
no one knows anymore.
We had the most beautiful pearls around
our necks.
The water's memory was in us.
Everything, also that which gave us tears and a desire
to kiss or move into a telephone booth.
Then it became more unclear to me.
I had to take my soul by the hand down the road
while I asked everyone to say who they were
for I couldn't see them, and
would rather not seem arrogant.
But I woke up to light. The world was
still full of signs and messages.
Tears, foxes, bells, hands
were waiting for me.
Then I stopped with playing cards, calendars
and religious images.