Far north

on

wild & cold & windy 

days & nights

when

with snow & storm

the Wild Hunt’s pack is chasing by

&

the light of candles flicker

their

warm & lovely flames

are ever so 

talkative

I dream

of olive trees

a thousand and more years old

& wonder

wonder

wonder

is there

any

time?

Left?

Was there

ever?

While the wind is howling

I cradle

myself & you

tenderly

& sigh happily 

into the pillow

or 

your ear.

If

you’re

here.

*