I. THE VOYAGE

 Here at the northern beginning 

of the world serpent, 

the waters are clear cold silver, 

the sun glints gold 

on silver. Here the waves under your ship

are the rough-heaving shoulders of warriors; 

gold on silver engraved in armor. 

A conquest, cattle and gold and women 

and bronze torques, to bring home to the wife 

who waits for you, here; 

hoe in hand, hair gleaming gold 

against silver.

II. YGGDRASIL (THE SERPENT UNDER THE WATERS)

The waves throwing themselves at the shore 

raking the shore with long wailing fingernails 

that stream in moon-darkness. 

And in the maiden moon 

the shore consents, 

gives in, the shore gives up its sands 

to the night-vaulted sea. 

These are the shores of night; 

on this dream sea, 

no means yes, hold is a cry of terror, 

the mouth mouths 

a prayer against twilight.

III. ODIN'S HALL

I have wandered Midgard 

hero-like for so many years now, 

so long that the leaves' frost 

fallen no longer speaks of light's end, 

merely of winter, of the gathering-in 

before storms. The cry of ravens 

in a weird tongue, 

flight of thought and memory 

against empty sky - 

faugh! how this mead is sour 

on my tongue! I long for the well 

of my home, the clear-honey 

wine, the warmth of my hearth, 

the welcome of my own beloved 

in my own bed. I have been here 

too long. When will the horns call for me, 

rainbow-trumpeting?