Porsanger fjord
Your face in the fog
That covers the tombstones
Without judging the past of the ghosts

Towards the North Cape hearing your voice
Like a disintegrated memory
A star, only one
Star shines on the fjord

The desolate plateaus of shale
Encircle our black silhouettes
Standing at the edge of the tundra
To hear your voice one last time

In the blizzard, towards the North Cape
I walk on the steep paths of the mountains
The steepness of the path makes me dizzy;
Your face floats above the dark pines

The sun has turned pale pink
And is about to let the night erase it
The clouds choke the treetops
I want to hear your voice like the breath of the icy wind

But it is the white dolomites that gasp
On the wild coast with its austere beauty
Your eyes, your eyes that pierce the fog
I have pitched my tent, torn the grass with my teeth,

Lakselv is a ghost village
You disappeared in Porsangerfjord
In the canyon of Silfar
I saw the reflection of my soul vanish

I looked for your footsteps
In the blue light of the moon
I plunged into the rapids
Of the salmon river of Stabburselba

I wait for you in Trollholmsund
On the road that merges with the fog
My headlights directed towards the city of Alta
I wait for you in a fisherman’s hut

The frozen lakes of Nasjonalpark
Have welcomed my prostrate silhouette
I raised the anchor of my boat
The sheep graze peacefully

I am sitting on a small island with clear rocks
The rocks are trolls turned to stone
For not knowing how to avoid the sunrise
I wait for you in Trollholmsund