The Light Streams In, Tomas Tranströmer | translation by Patty Crane

Outside the window is spring’s long animal,

the diaphanous dragon of sunshine

flowing past like an endless

commuter train—we never managed to see its head.

The seaside villas scuttle sideways

and are as proud as crabs.

The sun causes the statues to blink.

The raging conflagration out in space

is transforming into a caress.

The countdown has begun.