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There is much to admire and enjoy in that poem, Jill. Even so, I am going to have to come back to it. I'm in danger of liking a poem because I like its subject. You catch a quality of that place which is very hard to pin down. I'm trying hard not to be envious, as I haven't been there in 20 years Thank you L On 1 October 2014 15:32, Jill Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote: > > > DJURGåRDEN > > > > It smells sweet here under the dying trees, > > there's still a fruit and a high nest, > > and laughter, none of it for you > > and you can be happy in that. > > > > You're not looking for anything > > that hasn't been already found, you leave > > aside grace, or desire, or violence, even > > boredom, they do not apply. > > > > You pass green trees, a green field, > > people drinking beer, torn posters > > in a language, pizzas and drifters in a language. > > You pass as afternoon passes. > > And so many bridges. > > Sunset and neon is all to do with change, > > it's never otherwise, > > happiness to disgust, disquiet to joy, > > all in a quasi-sexual movement, a light > > that never quite leaves even one-ness. > > It's the cells colliding, the dancing queens, > > the drums and glittering shoulders. > > It is in fact the skin which curls up between > > who you are and where you've been. > > > > > > > > ________________________ > > Jill Jones www.jilljones.com.au > >