Green

All wilderness seemed gone
on the last night in the city.
Days of wandering 
along zig-zag mountains,
(not quite real; kept hidden
across the Atlantic)
all boxed away inside of us.
No signs here, downtown,
of that snowstorm/
those crashes under grey-gold sky;
just beyond troll rocks and pure black sands.

Glacial maps folded away
in preparation for our return to civilization.
And so I begin to grieve, the fragments inside of me,
(reflected in milky blue waters), long to be frozen here
onto this barren landscape; forever.

The city's bright lights, after such vast emptiness,
blind me at the icy harbour.

And then, without warning, they appear; above the grey buildings.
Dancing, in spite of the sound and light, wild and unstoppable;
the Northern lights above Harpa.

You hold my hand, 
as the world around still spins.
As the wilderness covers the city lights
with its green, ancient grip.

West

Iceland

Iceland, Spring 2014.

Words and drawings.

West

Paths wind and meander
through passes made from ice and saga;
a fierce and fragile beauty.

Moss, greener than growth ,
covers volcanic rock;
spills onto damp paper
-circles in Icelandic clay.

Light, white as time/
soft as morning;
stillness atop ancient triangles.

Feathers on wet basalt
as time refracts off
blue spring;
life.

You stand beside a map of glacial water
as I collect elements
in my ice cold hands.