What are you dreaming?
Your hot hand
Rests on the fold
Between my stomach and chest
Are you still in the fjords?
Adrift in Flam
On the deep, deep waters
Below the silent mountains
Watching for absent birds
Listening to the thin waterfall
That jogs down the slopes of the moon?
Or in the Domkirke,
The Stavanger cathedral,
Where the august chill of Christmas
Spreads through the dark, ornate carved frames
Of skulls and saints
And bare-skinned angels
Sat upon grey-green stone
Like candlesmoke
Where the man cleans the candleholders
and sweeps the wooden floor
of candle shavings
with his red brush and pan
In the manner of a Viking
