Fjörgyn
Goats laugh to each other,
sharing secrets about me.
The wind breathes the bock tune,
of a far away bard.
Still I trek, up and up and up,
to see that great canopy from the top.
Maritime
In a shadow between two buildings,
a woman clenches rosary beads.
The hem of her dress skims a murky puddle.
Ocean Observation
It is violent,
swelling in muddled moonlight.
My tangled hair becomes brittle
by the whipping salt air.