Excerpts from
The Shaking of Creation
By Søren Ulrik Thomsen
With a beam of light the young doctor points
into my eye
where a silent film crackles.
The last of the characters
who left it to me
to write words to the story --
I bore to the grave yesterday
as lilacs, swans,
and everything white in this world
placed the rest in shadow.
There I sat long and listened
to the whispering dissolution
of two headache tablets in water.
It´s hereditary, he says,
switching the light off.
Translated by Susanna Nied
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