Pell-mell the promiscuous pregnant Aire
Surges through the spreading banks scouring
Its bed of bicycles, trolleys and the dead
Hurling them at the ancient bridge
Shaking ghosts from the cracks
Drowning the phantom clatter of race driven looms
Carrying the detritus of centuries to the
Sanctuary of the Northern Sea.
The Thaw Of 1966 [Tomas Tranströmer]
Headlong headlong waters; roaring; old hypnosis.
The river swamps the car-cemetery, glitters
behind the masks.
I hold tight to the bridge railing.
The bridge: a big iron bird sailing past death.