We left sailors in Bergen disappointed,

took the bus on roads that wound,

shaped like the space between

the restless sea and rising cliffs.

Next, a wave-rocked boat-ride up the fjord,

thanks to a farmer really named Jon Brun,

then a hike back to the seashore overlook

on a path along the table-top mountain.

Rock and sparse grass beneath us,

we sat on the edge, between worlds,

mountains marching to the clouds,

water rolling to define the flat horizon.

Giggled. Held hands. Called our names

to wonder when they echoed together.

Whispered our secrets though alone,

declared our love and happiness as one.

Terrified of falling, of life and of death,

I sat there because you were with me,

tiny me on the map of new universes,

making me feel safer than ever before.

(after the 1927 illustration, by Maxfield Parrish)