The Oldest of the North Wind
Under the fir where the white
wind bends No road behind,
no warning sent
Ash in the bowl,
frost on the thread I hear
the old ground count the dead
You left your mark on the
birchwood gate
Three cuts deep in a mouth
of slate
I kept one match in a
copper tin
For the night you come knocking
in
Boots in the drift,
breath held low
Black river ice underneath the snow
You say my name like a
blade drawn slow
I do not run,
I already know
Keep your lantern under your coat
Keep your promise inside your throat
When the far hills turn iron
blue The oldest debt comes back
for you Raise the horn,
let the north wind answer Stone
in the chest,
no fear,
no surrender Hear that drum from
the buried weather We stand in
the cold,
we stand together
Raise the horn,
let the dark sky gather
Salt on the tongue,
steel in the leather
If the white night takes us
forever We leave no trace,
but we leave it severed
Your candle shakes in the window
frame
You brought a prayer,
I brought your name
The clock strings bite through the
frozen air
A low bell rolls from the
empty stair
No bright dawn waits on the
ridge tonight Just blue-black snow and
a single light You wanted through,
now look it through
The winter kept what it owed
to you
Keep your lantern under your coat
Keep your promise inside your throat
When the far hills turn iron
blue
The oldest debt comes back for
you Raise the horn,
let the north wind answer Stone
in the chest,
no fear,
no surrender Hear that drum from
the buried weather We stand in
the cold,
we stand together
Raise the horn,
let the dark sky gather
Salt on the tongue,
steel in the leather
If the white night takes us
forever We leave no trace,
but we leave it severed Hush
now, hush now,
the pines are listening One step,
two steps,
the black ice glistens Hush now,
hush now,
no bells,
no warning What sleeps beneath will
wake by morning
Raise the horn,
let the north wind answer Stone
in the chest,
no fear,
no surrender Hear that drum from
the buried weather We stand in
the cold,
we stand together
Raise the horn,
let the dark sky gather
Salt on the tongue,
steel in the leather When the
last white flame burns out forever
The mountain knows who crossed the
river
Under the fir where the white
wind bends No road behind,
no message sent
Ash in the bowl,
frost on the thread The old
ground counts what we have said