as we lounge among Mount Floyen’s trees, love,
looking down on Bergen’s inlet, the sun
drifting like a blazing krone from above
into the bay’s glaze of dark wine. Someone’s
cued the town’s lighting director, her art
vying with arriving stars. You recall
our touring fjords at dawn, want to start
again at daybreak, challenge de syv djell.
I laugh, then fall into your North Sea eyes,
fathomless in their joy. Just what lyric
pieces would he compose, do you surmise,
were he gazing as I at Homeric
wonder of your face? Make me a Viking,
perhaps, or an adoring mountain king?
Roger Armbrust
January 12, 2012
