These dreams

Last night I dreamt of an old man who travelled back in time to become himself as a child. He was taken by the secret police, and died of cancer.

I dreamt of a funeral procession past Europa, the dawn speaking my name, and a young girl who was twisted around herself so tightly that she ceased to exist.

Grief Gondola, No. 2 (excerpts)

I

Two old men, father-in-law and son-in-law, Liszt and Wagner, are staying on the Grande Canal
with the restless woman who is married to King Midas
he who turns everything he touches into Wagner.
The green chill of the sea pushes up through floors in the palace.
Wagner is a marked man, the well known Caspar profile is more tired than before
his face a white flag.
The gondola is heavily laden with their lives, two round trips and one one-way.

IV

Next to the son-in-law, who is a man of his time, Liszt is a moth-eaten grandseigneur.
It's a disguise.
The deep that tries on and discards various masks has chosen just this one for him —
the deep that wants to join the humans without showing its face.

VII

The piano which has been silent through all of Parsifal (but has listened) is at last allowed to say something.
Sighs... sospiri...
When Liszt plays tonight he holds down the sea-pedal so that the green force of the sea
rises through the floor and flows together with all the stone of the building.
Good evening beautiful deep!
The gondola is heavily laden with life, it is simple and black.

— Tomas Tranströmer (Translation: Malena Mörling and yours truly)

I dreamt of a butterfly.