Because the Danes
roared across the waves in Viking-
glory, horn-helmeted
King Cnut at the helm,
we can now say
that we are glad, can label small
what we’d otherwise miss,
and can cut with a knife
the smallest things
the eye can see. Come wind and hail,
though time may slay, we lay
cold and rain before the tide
of longing day.
Poetry from Vikings! The gift
of words like comfy shoes
we slip into and set
the day at rest –
Thank you, Cnut, and all who brought
words (and worlds) over waves –
and Søren, that least-like-
a-Viking Dane,
who stepped out of the longboat, saw
the gift of every day
in lilies clothed by God –
in awe, under
the thrall and whirl of tide, of time,
we take our seats until
smallest gifts can glitter.
The Consolations of Writing 