Missing pieces
Once — before he bowed to age, he sieved his syllables from books, wringing substance into notebooks. Once — he still believed his puzzle could be laid; now — he […]
Category Archives: Quadrille
Evening song
Edging to the water, thick the alder grow; there — in dappled light — a nightingale is trilling boldly for the day to end and on my way for home […]
No way back
I stumble on the cobbled lane this cul-de-sac, this rutted one-way-street. Nowhere I see a crossroad where a path diverges, nowhere a bridge leads back. How can a lie be […]
Laburnum and rain
It wasn’t the rain that evening in June, but the glare of laburnum, and his arms with your laughter. I watched you move closer; while closing your eyes. It wasn’t […]
Honeysuckle
It never was because she kissed me, when we were drunk on seaweed, or the way she cuddled me in furious perfume. It wasn’t even love that night. It was […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 