From a series of poems written during my stay in Lapland.
I thought the time
had finally come
to meet again:
the right month,
the right place.
But shame on me
for undervaluing
your unpredictability.
You’re a slap in the face,
a rinse of humility.
You appear at your fancy,
wrapped in clouds,
and to frozen photographers
with tripods and all,
you blow raspberries.
Showing up in pictures
but not to naked eyes?
Okay, we get it:
being taken for granted
is not your style.
As per our old habit,
you come when I’m leaving.
Is our situationship toxic
at this point in our story?
I guess we’ll be seeing.
Cosmic & Uneasy 