Wednesday in Norway

Sunshine.  The being of Norway,
the concept of north and further
to go.  North.  Lemming-like.

And seeking what?  A tor.  Perhaps.
Just hatched, just stretched
into the landscape of escape.

With a Munch scream.  The
alien aspect of a sun circling
like natives of the American
plains — xenophobic to xenophobic.

With a greater weight of history
than this phallic crane ascending
from the ruins of a rejected

economic goal — the American
automobile, sedate, parked,
waiting for a passenger.

Like when we waited
in Oslo, for the subway to
arrive.  And take us.  Further
into incomprehension.

I arrived in Halifax, Canada,
so many years ago, fresh
child from Europe’s war’s

aftermath.  Chess piece.
Twenty moves from end game,
from watching the sun swirl

in a maelstrom sky. And trying
to understand that life
is not about seeking differences.