Sávdni

by Olof Samuelsson

1
The flame curled against the glass of the stove.
It spoke quickly, stuttered words
boiling with the steam of its stones,
an endless panting that became the room
and the life that lived beyond it.
Reindeer and wolf and wolverine and moose.
They pearled on our skin in sweat,
chains of desperation that joined
and spread as we moved. Silent weeping.

An owl flew past the window
and perched on a lobe of snow
and disappeared.

Then breathing was drowning and
the wood was blood and breathing too.
The sky was black, the trees were candles
too cold to light. And there we were singing.
Singing as we stacked more onto the blaze
and singing as we poured more
onto the rocks that crackled and spat
and singing as we whirled our towels
to share the pain.

2
The latch clangs as air fogs from the open door
and we traipse through the snow
with aching feet towards the hole
in the frozen river. And we breathe
passing shrubs like children tucked into sleep.
The water mumbles beneath. Imagine
the ridges that rise under. And breathe

focal emptiness
movement, slowly
hands wring the metal snakes
toes touch the growing tessellation, rippling
sinking shivering shoulders
a floating head in the moonlight
and you breathe your last, descending
as your heart searches
for the pulse of the world.