THE WEST WIND BLOWS Poem by Lars Gustafsson
THE WEST WIND BLOWS
The west wind blows.
The west wind
through the open window,
turning the pages of the open book.
As if to read itself.
The varnish on the oars
dries quicker now
and at least one fly
always gets stuck
in the hardening clear surface.
Like a question
from a crystal-clear, empty and nocturnal space.
And the book reads itself
not without afterthoughts.
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3/10/2026 10:19:59 PM # 1.0.0
