kebnekaise, 2009.

you’re an old man 

with a violent heart.

i’ve wandered up 

and down

your windswept shoulders

your aqua ice rivers

i’ve tasted your tears—or is it your blood?

i,

i am all fear and anger

i am sunstruck

no sleep sweaty hands oily hair tired face worn

feet.

it is here

i am reminded of my own insignificance,

it is here that the world could end.

the mosquitos are fat off my sweat, and blood—

or is it my tears?

i steal sleep on your molting snows,

i put my head to your chest

and curl my fingers around your stones.

it is here that the world could end.

you, me, and the tiny flowers

you, me, and our demanding hearts

on the doorway of kebnekaise

river of rock, cradle of snow.