Olli Sinivaara: A Second

From Hiililiekki, Teos 2005

From street corner to forehead clouds rising, the copper-sounding thickening chips,
glowing sun-crust the streaks before anyone even thought to say streak.

Because it was, it is here: ember-like the branches, glimmering in advance of the fire,
the bowing bridges once proofed off the near thread-ready cotton,

waterlines against which the salt sea stitches the wound of Spring's arrival,
rails nearing the melting-point along which let's let the streetcars pass.

A broken icecube between the butt cheeks lifts colours along the spine,
a document protector covering the streets opens itself to odds and ends of
the firmament,

a passer-by with a face on which the black tops of lime-trees writhe
is split into a spring and a well toward blue then moves on like it never was me:

what in the evening light reflects to skin the rinsing fragrance of mirror-glass
makes you break like you swear every oath ever taken on the never-said.