Sigurd Poem by Philip Dodd

Listen. Thunder clouds,
herds of black bison
stampede silent space.
Wait. Relief of rain.
Hut folk from windows watch
lashed land, hardened face.
Trauma. When storm broke,
something slept in a sudden woke.
Loom weaver hand mosaic moved,
bright beads changed place.
Wake. Birds spread wings in water.
Air clear. Survivors show gratitude
for given grace.
Blow horn. Names of mighty men remain.
Sword of Sigurd the dragon Fafnir slain.