1
Sitting beneath the glide of a fulmar
tremendous rain threatens, but
the dark well of the cave obviates my fears.
2
The cave (the angry lust of the ocean)
hosts legends on the foreshore, while
the omnivorous ocean masticates.
3
Fulmars return from fishing canyons in the west
to squat in tunnels in the overburden.
I have come here however to consume the petrel's racket.
4
We are met here on an easterly winded day and
burrowed in the land we seek for shelter.
I will look for the mark of a Norse mariner on the stone.
5
But here the cave wall runs with water,
and the gusty wind blows back rivulets at the precipice.
In the cataract precipitates are slowly forming.
6
A great flux is working the old stone
as I step through the transient's shadow, searching
for secrets in the underworld.
7
Outside the foul-mouth squawks are silenced
by the voice of Thunder. Beneath my hands,
the murmur of old runes.
8
Our pelagic journeys are interrupted here,
beneath the ice we make our home.
Our folded wings await the lure.
9
I have not come here to die yet
only to stand in shadow and see the
(bright white)
illuminated fulmars astonish my sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem