Ýrungr

i know a stream
whose source 
is in the darkness
from which
the world was born,

i know its torrents
and its raging,
 its meandering 
and its lapping,

i know its course
that shapes flood plain
and mountain 
and brings down
every wall

i know its waters 
that nourish oak and alder

by them alone
might i be cleansed

by them alone
is every curse undone

by them alone
will this thirst be parched
so that i might sing 

the song of my own summoning,
redeeming the sacrifice
of self to self,

and then let your praise-song 
pour through me
until the river 
has flowed back 
into the darkness
carrying the last stars home