Excerpts from
Fire and Number
By Morten Søndergaard
We make a routine visit
to the day’s yellow machine.
We light small fires of straw.
We are drawn into the constant
rush of a honeysuckle
over a splintered wall,
we are the juice in the outermost shoots.
We die in the yellow cat’s eyes
under a quiet yellow sun.
We live the frayed sleep of the trees
and draw breath through the lungs of the birds
at the moment they start to sing.
We notice the blood a fraction
warmer on its way out of the brain,
we are the solved cipher of this temperature,
a simple love
walking towards infinity
in a const
antly growing fall.
We are fire and number.
Translated by David McDuff
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