From “Mozart’s Third Brain”, CIV

I lay a light stone on my father's grave, a gray stone


on the gray stone Hadn't planned to, it just happened


Then I think: Now you have made him a Jew But then I realize


that this is about one kind of infinity, in the series of infinities


On Gallows Hill the brimstone butterfly flutters, the jay is in the tree


In the hospital my mother tells me I have been to Väderön, which we can see


in the distance Veils of mist at the foot of Kullaberg But even the smaller islands


near Väderön are visible across the sea Then I remember How water from the waves


beat into the open boat Also remember seeing the horn of a narwhal in Torekov
Mozart in the first brain; in the resounding second: music


We are in the excluded third, impossibly, in the counterpart, its


constant alteration, as in all other brains We are a small part


of it So music touches us, all music, past and future


As if we were in the focus of love itself, its one and only point


I listen to all the voices, I hear their care, their rage Hear all


the instruments, in all their dimensions Hear the darkness of the sound


The fine weave of light moves upward, with its voices Until even


the earth sings, from its depths My lips move in the fugue, in dissonance


In my deep smile As if all pain, all joy, simply existed


Children move restlessly The voices of the old speak of loneliness, abandonment
Today I bring my mother home As if she were a child


In this I feel very childish myself Yesterday I spoke with M,


B's rescuing angel She talked about having spent the day


in Laxvik, where she'd seen the eider ducks coming, how they rose like smoke


down toward the mouth of Lagan, over the long sandy beach


I sensed early spring, the sea, gray, gray-green The visions of birds


she and B had together, that attentiveness As when B listened to


music, an unceasing astonishment It will soon be two years since he died
The tension between gnosis and the absence of knowledge, inside me That the


one thing that holds is what prevails through gnostic arrogance


I've understood this can also exist in the imageless


That arrogance, knowledge, its absence, all love, its absence, take


all forms Here I can sense the disruptions in language The invisible obstacles


pushing upward, crystal forms in the interior, those once crushed by song--


Will the song return, again, again I really cannot know that I re-


peat this, over and over again A nag warbler But also like the blackcap. . .