As if we never left, traversing the humble horn, guarding the merciless sea. Blankets of mist wafting over old ghosts, she’s foaming at the mouth for our return, drooling over jagged rocks, like broken teeth gnawing on bone, seething to cleanse our wounds. Decadent battles left behind, our departed still conversing with the worms, never surrendering, as their vessels our brought back to Valhalla’s womb, Odin and Freyja will be pleased. Two small craft await still worthy of the journey, the dragon heads point south, as we carve away the black tide, Mani keeps his watch casting a pale light over the dark waters, as we ask for safe passage drifting into the shadows of our Heima.
– Josh Fleming