This far north the sun
rolls all day around the horizon
marking North with a little dip
at midnight: sunset and sunrise
hide away like young lovers
with little chance to meet.
Inside, the tent is bright until
just before the lovers sneak away.
Outside, on the grassy, mossy
rocky rolling land, the wind
cannot sing, cannot sigh
except directly to the ear.
The human being turns,
follows the sun, marks the horizon
by sighting certain rocks,
now knows the time.
For one who does not live here
that is all there is.
