The scent of fresh wood
is among the last things you will forget
when the veil fails.
The scent of fresh white wood
in the spring sap time:
as thought life itself walked by you,
with dew in its hair.
That sweet and naked smell
kneeling woman-soft and blond
in the silence inside you,
using your bones for
a willow flute.
With the hard frost beneath your tongue
you look for fire to light a word,
and know, mild as southern wind in the mind,
there is still one thing in the world
you can trust.
—Hans Børlig (Norwegian Wood, Maclehose 2015)1
- Tradução do norueguês.