You've lost me.
But it's not a dealbreaker.

When Vikings were ‘los’,
they laid down their arms,
called a truce,
wandered through forests,
heady with pine,
noted the birdsong new to their lugs,
touched petals of flowers unfamiliar,
glimpsed dappled coats of animals unknown,
when thirsty, drank from cold, clear burns.

In a clearing, knee-deep in grasses,
the gloaming light filled with tossing seed-heads,
they found a haven through loss,
the fighting come to an end.

I wrote ‘Lost’ in response
to the emotions I felt
reading this short essay
on Rebecca Solnit’s
Field Guide to Getting Lost
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