for Catharina Lovén
I always thought I’d talk to you like this some day; somewhere in a high blue sky perhaps, a long way beyond distraction and despair.
I never doubted that finally the words would come easily, when we no longer needed them;
words, like water, filling the wounds left in a life dived through too quickly.
As I speak them they will vanish: quietly, without residue.
I always knew that I would say at last and you would hear words from my hollow throat; above clouds, the wind bringing them soft and clear an inch to your head, where they may yet sound almost like singing.