Swedish Mountain Passes

Early in the evening,
A duck cuts into the purple,
Ducks into the dark blue
Of the surface that is rippling
In the calm air

It is the breath of the ducks that’s rippling the surface
It’s your voice whispering “Swedish mountain passes”

Swedish mountain passes
Were the last words you said to me
The last words I heard you speak
That actually meant anything

Swedish mountain passes

Swedish mountain passes
Of high and low altitudes
where either side is laden with fruit
with blueberries, mountainberries, strawberries
swedish mountain passes
that are laden with fruit
with names I cannot speak

it is your ghost that haunts this lake
this evening,
the ripples on the surface,
the face I have sat across at the table

Early evening by the lake
A duck cuts through the deep purple
Dives into the unspeakable abyss
To the rhythm of your voice repeating
Swedish mountain passes.