Then he said,
I wish to carry on
not interupting my living-
his fair maiden behind him,
his rows of skin hanging,
Let me have peace
and not war
fishing and not
for I desire the sound
of waters over the clash
of sword and shield
falling into each other-
the smell of the sea
Not of death
spread thin
over a battle field.

Then the maiden
whispered in his ear
and he smiled,
smiled that smile

I’ll receive no help
I’ll see no hands
He’d rather fish
these waters
than touch the
face of war.

MiraNova: Novel out in 2009