Jon Eirik Lundberg Everything is plundered, betrayed, sold, Death’s great black wing scrapes the air, Misery gnaws to the bone. Why then do we not despair? By day, from the surrounding woods, cherries blow summer into town; at night the deep transparent skies glitter with new galaxies. And the miraculous comes so close to the ruined, dirty houses […]
Bli abonnent eller logg inn – hvis du allerede er abonnent – for å lese denne artikkelen. Pluss-artikler blir frigitt 24 timer etter publisering. Arkiverte artikler er forbeholdt abonnenter.
