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.

A classic question authors are often asked is where do you get all your ideas?
It’s the same with creating covers.
Written stories work like that too, at least they do for me.
