The Under Secretary leans forward and draws an X
and her ear-drops dangle like swords of Damocles.
As a mottled butterfly is invisible against the ground
so the demon merges with the opened newspaper.
A helmet worn by no one has taken power.
The mother-turtle flees flying under the water.
translated by Robin Fulton
'New and Collected Poems', 1997, Bloodaxe Books
Tomas Tranströmer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/national-insecurity/
