blank postcards

I.

The calendar all booked up, the future unknown.

The cable silently hums some folk song

but lacks a country.  Snow falls in a gray sea.  Shadows

fight out on the dock.

 II.

Halfway through your life, death turns up

and takes your pertinent measurements.  We forget

the visit.  Life goes on. But someone is sewing

the suit in the silence.

~Tomas Transtromer

from The Half-Finished Heaven

translation by robert bly

art by picasso