Bokelskere.no

Was Death, too, part of our luggage?
Unemployed for a while, fellow traveller?
Did he ride on the car top, on the bonnet?
Did he meet us now and again on the road,
Smiling in a café, at a gas station?
Stowaway in our ice-box?
Did he run in the wheel’s shadow?

Or did he sulk in your papers, back in your bedroom,
Waiting for your habits
To come back and remember him?