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