1994 - litiluistry

 

1993

6.167

16.vi.25

litiluistry

the objects of our loss

 

almost all of the names are forgotten

everything built is bleak

 

come by flight

and what was it from?

 

flint to tinder

stone of soap

beyond the storm

 

low lying birch, grassland

 

the gravel towering

stone like iron

 

will there be an arrow for fire?

 

how that first winter

was never written

 

pocket of grain

ash in the moss

 

house was a ship

a sea tether

wreck of shore

 

we’ve been here

by the whale’s way

almost been gone before  

 

the sheep live on

on our backs, on our hands

to bed with

 

a toothless worship

 

soapstone and skyr

ash and the drift

 

tooth of the monster

and walrus tusk

 

a sea inside

a boat under the sea

 

we were there, some still

 

flower bent to its thousand years

 

turf, wool and moss

 

the iron spun to yarn

we’ve been

 

settlement’s a book of hard hearts

all has been written to forget

 

the ice grip

tender crib

 

buckle and spike

hobble, bit, the bloom, slag and sledge

fire’s whorl – the green of it

the grazing

 

vaðmál’s homespun

moss and turf

fire, ash

 

to beat the weft on a warp weighted loom

we’ll call this a sword