Mist at anchor in the valley bottom
Like the grey tail of a sleeping dragon.
The trees on fire across the world
A raging blaze of amber lights.
Flint deer flicking across the bracken
Their eyes afraid, still wise of wolves.
The water drumming from the hills like rage
Fists tight-clenched so the bones went white.
High above an eagle bending
A single bar of beaten copper.
Seventeen geese flagging back for winter
Crying Icelandic, new snow in their wings.