Friday, April 16, 2010

Gerdur Kristny

Slow as sperm wales
we glide through the gloom
which is white
here on the heath.
It holds fast to its own
conceding only
one post at a time.
For an instant they flash
on the side of the road
like the little girl's matches
in the fairytale
lighting us
until we return
to the hole in the ice
to breathe.

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