Dreaming in the Dragon's Eye

I sailed into a triangle.

Not Bermuda, this was

the eye of the dragon.

My finger of Yod

pointed East

to a land

of winged serpents


in their song time.

Last night as we sat

around the fire

in the roundhouse,

listening to stories

of the old gods,

I saw their faces

in the flaming

breath of Nidhogg

licking at my feet.

I'd met that dragon

at the end of Helheim

when I rode the aurochs

past the dead

washed up on Nastrond's,

shore of corpses.

Wolfish seducers

grabbed at the hem

of my cloak,

while a part of me

was singing

“let me be seduced

in the eye of the dragon.”

I pushed on,

the mighty aurochs would

not stop for any dead man,

and Nidhogg laughed his

fire breath in my face.

The serpent's smoke

drifted up into the thatch

through the central hexagram

that was holding

the roof with

the power and protection

of One Eye.

Odin slipped in  

through the door

on a gust of wind.

I could see him

when the hot log jumped

out of the fire as

the skald spoke of Ragnarok.

“I have come to lay my

binds at your feet

and loosen their tension.

With them step

into Hrungnir's heart

and melt the stone

that lies there

into gold.”

I drove home

in driving rain

to lie dreaming

in the dragon's eye.