(distilled / mythic version)
I rest my face in the wind
until snow forgets my name
and the jaw becomes stone
From beneath the lake
the bells of core ice speak –
cathedrals without walls,
sound moving through cold
Anger loosens
in the turning of the Goldberg Variations,
each hand returning what the other releases
I lie down
at the edge of the northern world,
where bear, wolf, and falcon
keep the older calendars
Granted this place
by an unlikely mercy,
for the late chapters of a man’s age,
I rest the face again –
in the gaze of Compassion,
known by many names,
who holds fury without flinching
and lets it cool into light
Star-clusters open.
Homelands appear.
Names once spoken in youth
stretch their bridges
of glass and silver
between what was wrecked in daylight
and what still climbs,
bright,
toward the mountain fires
where pyres are prepared
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2025-12-23 at 19:09
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Face · Core Ice · Goldberg · Cremation (II)
I rest my face in the wind
until snow forgets my name
and the jaw becomes stone
From beneath the lake
the bells of core ice speak –
cathedrals without walls,
sound moving through cold
Anger loosens
in the turning of the Goldberg Variations,
each hand returning what the other releases
I lie down
at the edge of the northern world,
where bear, wolf, and falcon
keep the older calendars
Granted this place
by an unlikely mercy,
for the late chapters of a man’s age,
I rest the face again –
in the gaze of Compassion,
known by many names,
who holds fury without flinching
and lets it cool into light
Star-clusters open.
Homelands appear.
Names once spoken in youth
stretch their bridges
of glass and silver
between what was wrecked in daylight
and what still climbs,
bright,
toward the mountain fires
where pyres are prepared
Poetry by Ingvar Loco Nordin
Written on 2025-12-23 at 19:09
