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Arctic Wings

South of Iceland I look down and see her

Cresting the fetch in her tiny craft,

Riding down the long green wave.

Brave she sits inside the skin

Carrying only one small dirk,

One dram of water.

All around her the seabirds soar

Blinding white as seraphim,

White winged

Long necked

And they call to her



And she hears



Day to night

The little boat rocks beneath the stars

Wrapped in the swell of the sea

‘Midst northern lights and moon shine.

A vee of geese flies overhead

Yakking and clacking



And she hears



In the early grey light

She throws back her hood,

Lets loose her silver hair—

It catches in the mist

As the dawn breaks purple behind her,

Blue before her.

Minkies guide

Minkies glide

Minkies alongside

Minkies ride her wake,

Their breath blowing



And she hears



Alone on the wide sea

Surrounded by daystars and angels

She rides to the unseen islands

And her heart beats



And she hears



Deep in time, atop an ancient mountain

A single standing stone

Senses the oncoming coracle.

In its old slow voice

It calls to her



And she hears



South of Iceland I look down

And see her alone in her tiny boat.

The wings of the plane cast the briefest of shadows

On her breast.

Would I could mount a gannet’s wings and ride to her.

Would I could dip a fish from the brine to sustain her.

Would I could call to her

In my own voice



Would she would hear

And laugh at the closeness of me on that vastness

And be never afraid.


July 6, 2020 at 7:54:04 PM


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