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~ By Courtesy of Others ~

 

Precipitating Darkness

The tears of a hooded night
have a personal approach.
Cool July whispers
tickle my scalp,
saturating the mind
with places my body
would rather be.

Tonight, Frejya is crying.
Constant tap, tap, tapping
on my yellow plastic coat
mimic's the horse's hooves
that clop on ancient paths.
Aromas of flame and game
float from the mead-house,
baiting my senses,
reeling me in
like a hooked mackerel.

Midnight showers
are somewhat cruel that way.
I can smell and not taste,
feel but never see the sound.
Rain brings me back
to my rubber boots
and this oyster farm
on the cold Pacific coast.

 

© Darí Einarfjórðison

 

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