Waking Up in Iceland

Waking up in Iceland
With a finger on the glass
Looking out to bright white towers
Eyes watching as they pass

A piece a part a portion
Of a rag we whet last night
Whilst making love beneath the bough
By blubber and by ice

The movement and the sound we made
By distance and by light
Is comparable to water
It’s shiny iron bite

Our bellies ache as anchored
To gruel and then the gout
Black lines on our fingers
Sores around the mouth

The roar we heard this morning
As we marked each other’s skin
Like God has an understanding
That I’ve finally found my kin

I’m not sure how to tell you
That I’ve had another birth
Another place to hide
Beneath the frozen earth

Her body is an island
Her hands are blades of grass
She wears a thousand dresses
Her finger is the mast

Hanging on a boulder
On the sharp edge of the ridge
I suppose that getting older
Is the building of the bridge



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