I feel it drumming in my bones,

ice water pulsing deep,

I need to go there,

the place of ice and snow,

deep hot springs,

drums, pulsing, pounding,

deep forests and woodsmoke.

 

And I crave for the life of old,

my people now gone,

I miss my need for home

in a place long dead and gone.

 

A calling, for what’s long dead,

what’s been dust and story

lingering ghosts in my blood still.