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Svenska SvenskaHomeward
A telephone call flowed out into the night and glittered in the countryside and suburbs.
Afterward I slept restlessly in the hotel bed.
I was like the needle of a compass carried by an orienteer who’s loping through the woods with
a bounding heart. 
Contributor’s notes: Tomas Tranströmer
Contributor’s notes: Patty Crane
After a Long Drought
The Black Mountains
The Boat—The Village
From Winter 1947
Funchal
Homeward