The Four Corners of the Earth By Christian Bundegaard

Sparks when the plough strikes our forefathers' helmets. New soldiers on manoeuvres drink milk by the dry-stone wall. Only creeping blue moss in winter sun knows which moments eternity is connected to. In the early misty morning the forest And a man with a kopper shadow expire. A green bird sits on a branch. The bird flies, painting the mist as it goes.

According to the clock in the single room all hours are the same. The jungle sounds of the hospital electronics soothe A hand of glass reaches out, pointing. A hundred years down the street A strong smell of animal comes from a human being. Open windows on the train, the laughter grows wild On dry earth. Darkness red with scent. In the packed compartment sharing a loaf of bread, telling stories. Also laughing in the dark: the white mouth of the bread.

Copyright ©2010  Christian Bundegaard

This poem can also be read on iPoetry, the poetry app for the iphone/ipod touch available on the Apple iTunes App Store.

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