600 Days

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The shore is swampy, full of reeds.

Roots deep in the peat.

The touch of stones and cold water is caressing.

A sticky blue moon night,

Lightning strike, cambium fused to powder.

Severed branches fly far.

*

To the other side of the river

Six hundred days, longingly, I look.

The broken arms are crawling on the grass.

The beasts tear them with their teeth,

the wind blows the pieces.

In the gloom of darkness, lost.

All the saints look on calmly.

The gods fell asleep.

Evil creeps and rises across the water.

*

The imprint of the struggle for life in the mud

Coasts covered by the dense silence.

Raise your head proudly,

with body slim and tall,

strong as a poplar tree.

My soul whispers,

your happiness paid by at the cost of mine.

Inside me, the silver wolf growls

through secret, dark, suffering places.

*

Dig the love out of the pictures.

Like a south hug where hands firmly squeeze the neck.

Children's play in the snow,

bathed in laughter; may it heal your wounded soul.

A vow of debt in love,

the joy of living is your's shield wonder metal.

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