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We will leave here without memories
To tender tremor of morning husk
To sadness and moonlight in the woods
To some lonely place at dusk

I will leave here without memories
A scent of grass that
In their sleeves
Farmers bring home
From a day in the fields
A secret that hidden
Under eyelashes escapes
Different sounds, colors and shapes

I will leave here without memories
When the road turns and makes a bend
For the last time I will think of your eyes
As of some beautiful foreign land.

 


Photography: Runner by Mikko Lagerstedt


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Alien, alienated. That's me.

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