Into the Fjord

Into the Fjord

Where saltwater rapids rage
and foam at the mouth;
there, where tidal currents drag
and mold silver-sliver streams,
a rowboat bobs.

Through ice-green lips the four oars cut –
onto mirror tongues that lick
the vessel’s shelled camouflage,
darker than the deep throat ahead;
a sea eagle cries.

With soft white gums the valley looms,
rock-rot teeth ready to strike
at anyone who dares enter
the sacred ice-scoured  waterways;
the sky rumbles.

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