Seagulls circle and fall from clouds
of aqua and amber light.
Their cries play like jazz silhouettes in the cold Icelandic spring.
From a distance,
your smile encircles me making me whole once again.
From the dream,
cups in cafes chatter and roll with conversations that go long into the night;
poetry of pure sound echoing across an abstract canvas.
Light laughter carries on the wind through the streets of reykjavik;
echoes of the past weaving an ancient poem.
Ah!
Keats would smile to hear the music of a sigh.
Then,
you turn and laugh from a doorway I've always known;
snow melting beneath your feet
the dream taking my heart away
while seagulls circle the sun waiting to begin once more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I felt like I was there, such warm well-described imagery.