Fjallkona

[incantation]

Did the raven cry
Her dreams the ones in 
Which she dialled 
The sun to light
The union of fire, ice
And that of hers with Iceland.
A bird rests in 
A forest to test the strength of
His Queen's song. His
Rain enraptured eyes rise to 
View the sun, the dreams 
Of a Queen and that of her 
Land in flight between fire
And ice.

[Terry A]

Had to look up ‘Fjallkona’ and found the myth to which your poem refers. Powerfully embraced by Iceland, and for reasons that elevate rather than reduce the spirit of a country built on volcanoes and winter. Yet your poem soars beyond those considerations, poetically bringing to life the intensity almost the form of a lucid dream in which the ordinary pales in comparison. One travels on spirit in poems such as this one, so welcome in times where reductive materialism applies too much gravity to thinking.

Edited to add; Because good poetry makes one think -On the effects of how myths can flow in the blood of countries, for good or bad. Mostly this poem speaks of a reverence for natural forces that enliven and awaken the senses past the mundane.