Reykjavik, 1995

Speechless sleep that lasts for weeks and
weeks. And if we dream we dream of
sheep that softly bray in shelter,
shining sunlight, and in shadow;
kites of white set against the night
that’s black-blinded, infinitely
deep.

And dreaming, we must learn to keep
in transit, learn to know unknown
is still unknown -- this mystic land
could swallow us! We slowly sift
through ice-tipped snow and
stamp our feet – Shh! Silently, slow,
asleep.

In spring, the lava fields crunch cool
beneath our feet familiarly,
A weirdly orange morning glow:
Moonscape escape, my home. You are
with me, and we are both
alone.