The Dreaming Norns

By cold well water they dream,
Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld,
of nets and fish and winter
sky, shorn of stars and moon.
Pale hair grows wild
among roots and stones.
Cerulean eyes turn inward
through moving mist.
Frog calls break fragile air,
ravens ride darkening wind.
The Nornir sleep, and summer
breaks against brackish sea.
In foaming surf, the boy god,
sensuous as sunlight
on waves, dwindles again
and again, pierced through
the heart, cut by a cursed plant,
sent wheeling, wailing down
to caves of shadow and sighs.
Hunger treads tortuous paths
and young wolves dwell in darkness
until their long jaws drag in sand
and scrape across the broad sky’s brow.

[Steve Klepetar’s work has received several nominations for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Flutter Press has recently published two chapbooks: My Father Teaches Me a Magic Word and My Father Had Another Eye.]