To Andvari

For F.

I call to the careful one,
the cunning dwarf who lost his ring
but retained his gleaming wealth, Andvari
who lives behind the shimmering waterfall
where the long-toothed pike swim freely
and the rapid white-capped river
blesses the weddings of the the village girls
who still come by night to make offerings
of braided wheat dolls and wildflowers.
Lord of the oak-crown, with beard of moss
and fingers like gnarled roots and dripping mud,
you know how to make things increase and how
to reap the rewards of fine investment,
and even more importantly how to take advantage
of obstacles and the unexpected.
Venerable maker, this I pray, teach me to see
the true worth of all things, and to know always
what is mine to carry, and what is not.

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