Take me a drown the Hvítá river,
I urge you my trusted friend.
I believe in all your stories,
Even though this is my end.
Don’t hang up all my skin fear,
on twigs and brambles few.
I take up morning air time,
and give up on what is dew.
Liquid lifts my spirits,
to the ghost that floats on past.
I’ll dream up the world’s sphere,
in the hope that this could last.
You cannot save a broken burden,
mixed with salted indigo streams.
Cleanse away your hands now,
and we’ll flow deep in dharma dreams.
© Thelma Von Salem @ https://thelmavonsalem.com