for Gunnar Cirulis

The woman on the street corner
was selling necklaces
 made of green amber.

Soon everywhere we turned
someone was selling amber:
necklaces, bracelets, nuggets with insects
   trapped inside -

But it was the green amber
that seemed closest to the sea,
as if it had just been pulled
  out yesterday -

It was the raw texture
 of the green amber
I thought of, Gunnar,
as we sat in your house
and you poured the sap from birch trees
 into our glasses -

You pointed out the window
your uncle liked to look out of -
the room your father used
 to work in.
'This was our home - this was
our home...' you kept on
repeating with such joy -
your feet emphatic on the floor.

Your family home
taken over by the Red Army
and used for so long
as officers' living quarters -
Your family home suddenly
returned to you, empty -
your childhood returned to you
 in your old age.