When there is nothing else, carry a few white
stones to bed,
the sea has washed them white,
they breathe, they still hold its odor,
a few white stones my advice,
when the bed becomes too wide for you alone.
You want your own life. Good. To be your
Careful. The worms are waiting for just that. As long
as you are yet
Error. A thousand blind eyes nibble your picture to pieces.
In you is the fear of a child, darkness-
when the games have been interrupted.
(My version of a poem by Paavo Haavikko)