Riddarholmskyrkan

Or, deep north at last

I fed the glider-sparrow

of the barge’s gable fair

– a fare in far north lands –

of waves its blood:

sand-riders out on surf

horses of the body’s sea

were well aware

of what I had achieved.

Many retinues,

companies of fierce

retainers, came to visit me

all on account of this:

my little twigs,

arms and martyred legs,

as well as foliage-fetters

from the nut-tree of fear.

From afar, across

the play of flashes

from sword-sparks’ source

on the waves’ clear earth:

seated on quartz, I,

in the shade of trees

who show their wan-joy love,

it whispered the un-name.