I write of black lichen

© Christoffer Petersen, 2021

I write of black lichen
Crisp petals of frost-parched flowers
Piercing palms, crisping beneath soles
As we stride across the ankle heathers
To disappear for a while.

I reek of fish entrails
Oils and eye slime juicing over the cuffs
Of my industrial Marigolds
Bought for rinsing dishes
They stir the halibut heads.

I burn with embarrassment
One cultural gaff after another –
Those tongue-lolling huskies
Fawning on sun-smoothed ice
Waiting for me to pull the sledge.

And I dream of darkness
When the sun is at its brightest
Only to regret summer dreams and wishes
As the sun shrinks below the horizon
Never to be seen again.