Move – Poem of Ingmar Heytze

To move

We move and we leave behind: space, time

We draw lines from point to point,

we draw out our lives in stone

because we move we take with us: everything,

nothing, each other. We close the door for the last,

count the keys and deliver them.

We move, back and forth, until we get somewhere

stepping in, strangely familiar, as if

we were expected.

The morning light through new curtains,

improvised coffee from a saucepan

between piles of boxes, pots of paint –

it is near,

we touch it,

we are almost home.

Ingmar Heytze