A June morning, too soon to wake,
too late to fall asleep again.

I must go out —the greenery is dense
with memories, they follow me with their gaze.

They can’t be seen, they merge completely into
the background, true chameleons.

They are so close that I can hear them breathe
though the birdsong is deafening.
 

da Memories look at me: A Memoir
Tomas Trainströmer