This morning, as I was walking along the beach, some five thousand kilometres from home in Sweden, I met – randomly – a fellow researcher from my Swedish University and her two young children. She presented me as someone who writes poems (“dikter” in Swedish), and the little boy repeated pensively: “dikter”… A bit later I sat for a coffee and I felt it was my joyful duty to write a poem on the spot:

 

Truth be told,

Now I hold

Sanity in my chest;

An inch for conquest

The most to spread around –

For the earth is not round

In the mind of the beholder,

And follicity is a folder

For all the gifts you avoid

As you embrace the void.