I’ll text Freya.

I’ll text Freya.

Tall buildings lean in

Hungrily

They are ghoulish

Tumbling, teetering

Mountains

Sand blasted valleys.

Sweeping arcades

Are frozen highlands

Brooding with menace

There are no goat herds

Patient Shepherds

Or would be guardians

Of the spirit world

It is an empty void.

At the back of my imagination

Under canvas

Bivouacked against the cold

Where the frogs croak

A love song

I am waiting

For guidance

I have no compass

No runes to cast

No way finder

Without starlight

I would be lost

Drifting in doldrums

At the whim of the gods.

In the wings

The wind wails

Waiting for the penny to drop

And in a shimmer

Of street ghosts

Sand breathers and cobwebs

Startled into life

I am the light.