The sound of the Nordic God’s anger thunders in my ears

as Freya plays with seduction a song in which to entrap

My O.K. Internal Haze and give rise to the tricks of the mind.

The Nordic Gods play havoc with the landscape, the boundary

between my vision and the vast sea that was crossed by Freya in search

of someone to take notice of the gentle notes of joy, despair and anguish,

the dominant emotion of love for the guitar she wields with a shy smile.

Her weapon, simpler than the Ax favoured by more aggressive