moments from the wilderness

Norse poetry from hel

far beyond the river old
deep within
the mountain side, of a northern realm
called hel

hands move
soundless slow
like set inside
a dream obscure,

through
the grass filled
meadows

shimmering
born
of sunrise dew
which
for a moment
drawn out
stubborn

hang, onto
skin and fingers
like finely threaded
droplets
of crystallized
rain
confusingly caught
in
freezing
brisk air

until
this moment

of light and sounds
bursting

from the star, the one
that is the sun

they flare and flappy shine
with enthusiastic
fury,

hellfire warmth
and compassionate hunger
breaking
this worlds
icy hold, like…