I'm under no obligation to explain

On certain nights, I don't see the sun on Sunday, when my gorsebush is dying,
but I can see the moon flying.
There's wolves crying,
sounding patriotic in their furred state of affection.
But the inflections and perfections of this situation
long for linguistic stationariness.
I'm so tired of all our Norse inflections.

The northern reflections
did not stop the Norsemen,
like notes on a page,
and pages on their horses,
delivering letters that changed the wars, and the courses
of history...