Jenny Tunedal

A child bears a frightening resemblance to its mother
and their intuitive way of touching each other
spreads through time and space
like trees through branches
light through the eyes
their bars around them
like blood

A white skating rink
an ocean to protect
a chilly gray day in January
a memory that covers another memory
one of all the feelings is tension
extension of hair
periods of calm
a constant selfish love

Snow-clad     settled light snowfall     covering
the unfailing light     the exact
word for the small wounds
one of several ways to administer pain
a horde that replaces us
an ocean not to break

Holes filled with water and flesh and blood
our own     all     this oxygen
replaceability     the irreplaceable
until the end
that will be obscured
and lighter and lighter snow close close
closes like the darkness like stars
whiten in the dead snow

Dead flies     white billowing fabric
living flies     white billowing fabric
a thoroughly overcast sky
covered with mute bodies mute
water without beaches     fires without trees
the yielding     weight     darkness earlier and earlier
falling     rising     frequent

Your way of describing a sunset like blood
all the ways of describing a sunset like light
the roving words and after them

Black branches without leaves hang in the trees
like white driven gray     driven clouds
neutral ground neutral rocks

It is inevitable that bodies grow
were tall     irrevocable     vulnerable
limited     sufficient     restrained     like animals

The field shelters fear
whatever is said    whatever is written
uniform like children – apparently unintentional –
their running and this: where are they now raging/in hordes

The word war is just distance now
screens and different ways to continue     but also images remain ruins
men in despair – fathers – who cannot make their way anywhere
the indefensible
I think about to whom it belongs

White swarms crushed hands or lamps
absent mothers     dead     roses     speechless many
in bloom  in common     red     bodies instruct us
have and hay     access and lack     touch and terror
bright flight     flighty light     need for protection     averse to light

Here is a kind of dream in reality
an evasion or asset
sunset its completely golden
beginning e.g. through the fog     glows a golden light
dreamlike and truthful     we are even further away

Their faces are nowadays just an exaggeration
a kind of time that does not resist itself or the eternal
I make up the field of vision and the limit
the word I recurs many times
but time passes even faster     rush, birches, wrenches
you walk away nearby

The sky gives the impression of no longer being over but under
same field today as yesterday     white that does not restrict itself
devastating birds and views
it is easier to sleep this early in the year
it is no longer possible to understand our rules
their obligation

The field exists like violence     inside     different ways that have to do with money
and language     citizenship violence     snow     a cold dust that reminds
absence paper drifts light     there are humans in piles
dreaming snow     indiscriminately     the dead are already dead
hence covered – muted – waiting