Now the boat is going
towards lake Skærgaard,
an island in the ocean
with green beaches.
Here flowers live
for the eyes of no man,
they seem so foreign,
watching me arrive.
My heart becomes like
a garden of tales
with the same flowers
as the island has.
They talk together,
whispering strangely,
they gather like children,
laughing and curtsying.
Perhaps I once was here
at the beginning of time
like eventually finding
white a spiraea.
I know the scent
from the past,
I shiver in the middle of
an old memory.
My eye is being closed,
a distant memory
has put my head
down to my shoulder.
Then the night becomes denser
over the island,
only the ocean is rumbling –
the rumbling of Nirvana.