Copenhagen

a morning in Copenhagen brings mouthfuls
of rain over Venetian windows

I seatbelt in a black Vauxhall creaking
along banks peppered by dull sands

bleach-white seagulls float narcissistically
over Baltic rim humming blue-ash water

moderate waves freak naked ankles as if
mermaids leap from tales of Hans Christine

fairies and goblins outsmart security cameras
guarding city’s spires and fictions,

my fellow friends exchange in Danish
the language of their future bread

exilic vowels belch assonance
as if Vikings chase the Irish on bogs

where Derry’s poet Heaney planted
his seeds in Arhus, (the traffic sign)

tempts me to slimy open lands
peat, dead bodies, and corpses

refracting gaze of an ‘artful voyeur’
in whose reverence now I dig my words

burrowing out anxiety of distance
and a silence too unadulterated

clogs my nose untamed by Nordic smells
perpetuating a dank autumnal palate

of almond horns, apple muffins
displayed with a cozy appetite

in curled streets of Gothic hush
where blonde girls cycle with finesse

a sea-smelling evening waits on cobbled path
outside queen’s palace I take off my jacket

to let the wind write its verdict on ruffled hairs
after journeying dishevels my directions

a church bell peals for the newlywed
flowers hurl in air like oracular omens

I am reminded of people making love
arriving homes and to safer ends