Puzzled

I want to know everything.
I am in tune, but there is no signal.

You should know me better than this.
The bitterly cold nights,
the sparkling embers, the beautiful
Norwegian boy,
the friend of a friend.
The crunch of gravel,
the smell of brine,
clenching muscles.
The modulation of cries.

The filthy kitchen and the blue helicopters.
The unwritten letters. Two bouquets,
one of them frazzled.
Dark glasses on over the bruises
and a hesitant smile.

My promise is wrought in steel.
I am an owl, with a head that spins.