Northern Torches
Whistling, rustling, crackling sounds,
frost-hardened snow of the heaven:
Eskimos believe torches guide spirits
journeying to the next life.
Dark, far away,
I see the sky open.
A haze settles into a glow,
gradually widening, striping the earth.
Twisting contortions of mysterious light
surround me.
Fissures of red, white, gold,
shine yellow, like glowing irons
taken from the forge.
Streaks toss about with abandon,
ghostlike arms dart and chase,
appear, disappear,
writhe across the sky.
I see giant draperies,
stabbing ends of their folds toward earth.
They drip with green, reds,
reflecting light on skittish clouds.
Rich red color bleeds of battle.
An ill omen whispered among the gods.
Odd bands of white vapor,
like glossed silk, penetrate me.
Sharp points in constant motion
shoot a living, blazing flame.
Night declines, the torches fade,
with daylight it vanishes.
