It’s this life I want, this valley
between the hills and high places,
the steppes of what, so far,
I have known. Give me the day’s
catch strung along the weathered
wood, the old remaining fenceposts
spindled from soft earth, like
a cemetery, the church bells’
interrupture through the making
of bread, the Dutch braids
carved into the mossy gold
of my eldest, give me the
sheepkindred, worn fishing
vessels, the loamy ash shot
through the soil of a fairground.
Give me these new desires
swift and shifting and ocean-
reaching, plains-conquering
as the wind at sundown, the
solgangsbris which carries
the tide and cools the skin
and makes me also a
valley, also a vessel, also
vast and remaining and full.

Trondheim, 7.22.14