The Icelandic connection - 01.09.2010, Page 37

Vol. 63 #2
ICELANDIC CONNECTION
87
It was a line she took
For her own, fashioned
It like a guitar string
Laid it out, drew it
Tight. We lay on hands.
Palms upward.
Pressing close the calendar of years
And early evening coming on
I lay my face to the possibility of the next season
When this place will wear the burning fields like the hem of a gown
What will be found in the scorched ground
White stone, broken blade, old tooth, or
Something else.