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/