tracks

Night, two o'clock: moonlight.  The train has stopped

in the middle of the plain.  Distant bright points of a town

twinkle cold on the horizon.

As when someone has gone into a dream so far

that he'll never remember he was there

when he comes back to his room.

And as when someone goes into a sickness so deep

that all his former days become twinkling points, a swarm,

cold and feeble on the horizon.

The train stands perfectly still,

Two o'clock: full moonlight, few stars.

~ Tomas Transtromer

translated by Robert Bly