THINGS Poem by Lennart Sjögren

It was best on the border near daybreak
the one that grows visible after the wolf-hour
when with clear eyes things were able to observe us.

Things are not human beings
nor creatures either
but they dwell like us in their closed shells
and when they're smashed to pieces there's a crunch
of broken bones.

Don't ask me where they come from
or what their special purpose is
- but on the border of daybreak just now
I heard them bark like happy dogs
when the scent becomes clear.