Hums of conversation
|
Lip goes
|
One leg crossed
|
Driven back into this corner
|
|
Is it the same when I leave
|
As when I come
|
On a higher or lower frequency
|
It means nothing to me
|
|
Watch me turn the volume down
|
It's always cold before the last day
|
Still guarding space
|
Snow piled up by the road to my house
|
|
The one time I tried
|
It was a fine view
|
Through and across
|
Then there was restlessness
|
And in that movement
|
I dressed in the light from outside
|
|
-----------------
|
Still guarding space
|
| Anja Garbarek |
