in her pain-hut
Norna ties hope-berries
to a moth

someone covered
the path with mirrors
refusing you

on borrowed feet
light sneaks into a swan
in a bottle in a lake

at dusk a mud-ladder
for your ambitions
to climb

we’ll hide in the white room
as fruit flies, she says
to her mango self

by the end of this Yuga
Norna takes off in her flying cup
drawn by moths