Skånegatan

The trees look like they used to, the rolling fields. The people are so fair, so tall, they're beautiful but sour-faced. You transfer at the central station because you always do. Take the green line. Barely need to think about it. Cross the water to the South Island and see the sun glitter in it. It's a lovely day. 

Their faces are the same, their laughs trip around your shoulders and ease you in. Only the children have grown. Stockholm is peaceful, holiday mode and everyone is so tan. I don't remember ever having been anywhere else. 

I saw your ghost in the street today. The back of your head, the whisper of your smile. Your scent is all over this town. There's too much written on the wind. 

I am tired of poetry.