The last residue of Finland through the heretical voice of the Kalevala:
So now she steps further down
launched herself upon the waves
on the clear high seas
upon the open expanse.
There came a great gust of wind
from the east nasty weather
lashed the sea to foam whipped it into waves.
the wind lulled the maid
and the billow drove the lass
about the blue main
and the froth-capped waves;
and the wind blew her womb full
the sea maker her fat.
From the hill-top I
dove softly into the green leafy pool,
breast stroked through the canopy,
as I came up for effervescent air
my hair brushed bird feet and cloud.
On this mirror clear lake
my feet splinter and shard into droste
as they touch the surface.
Water ripples bloom into silver roses
reflecting the stars as mercury thorns.
Pascal said all men’s miseries
derive from not being able to sit
in a quiet room alone.
I sit in this windowless cube with
flickering gaslight thoughts chiaroscuro on the walls.
With eucalyptus, tar and salt
deeply inhaling steam, vapor, wood and oils
the cold leaves the room.
As I walk back into capricious forests
my renewed lungs fills with ubiquitous pine.
