Froth

I am a poet, I said

staring out the window

 

it’s a bad sign, she said
if a man looks at a raven
when someone asks about his work

 

always

the birds

 

well, in the late summer

I collect froth
where the whitewater

settles in a pool

 

the old woman was reassured

but refused a taste
she easily gets dizzy
on a bus

Sokta

Lohken leat divttár
ja guvlen lássarái olggos

 

fuones leaban mearka, láhttestii áhkoš

jos olmmoš garjjáid gaivá
go barggus birra gažaduvvo

 

álo
dat lottit

 

na čakčagesiid
ávnnastan sovtta
mii guoikka vuollai čoggo

savvongáddái

de viššá, logai áhkoš
muhto biehttalii smáhkemis

son gii boastabiillas
šaddá oaivejorgásii