Friluftsliv

Slips and skips from the lips, it

frees me from this bees’ nest wherein

barren technology stings and wrings

joy from the days, it plucks me from

the luckless hum of air conditioning

and fair renditions of elevator tunes

and spoons me into the bracing air

heart racing there and the snow falling,

flakes enthralling you, northern lights shine

above fragrant pines and then at last I rise,

the trees beneath the evening skies give way

so I may dream under unshackled stars,

cracked Mason jars preceding

fireflies’ freedom.


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