Lost in a thread,
love chased the wind across the lava rocks
to Reykjavik
to Pingholstraetti Street
...
When the fishing boats come in,
the seagulls gather upon slumbering lava
rocks.
- their beaks alomost orange in the light.
...
Run into a cold morning when trolls sing the sagas to a golden sea.
Run into the colours of the northern lights when Reykjavik dreams.
Run with your eyes closed into the winter wind when candles glow from windows covered in lace.
Run when truth and storm collide on a cold Icelandic night.
...
When the wind sings in gusts of colour,
ghosts dream in the blue of your eyes.
When sagas fall into a fire that lights the night sky with tears,
your heart breaks a glacier and collides with llove.
...
In our hearts,
we would play the cello;
our fingers carressing the strings
as our souls emerged from instruments of ancient wood.
...
Thoughts splinter into dreams that are held by the prison of music.
Crystals fall and shatter into notes-
rainbows crossing the sky.
Elements converge into compositions.
...
After the anger,
after the words were thrown,
the wind carried them away to the sea
beyond the place where seagulls nested;
...
Fragile thoughts,
emotion ebbing and flowing upon a sea of white dreams,
touches my heart
while seagulls carry the soul of poets' words into the arms of the waiting clouds.
...
The sun withdrew into the arms of the moon.
Effortlessly,
seagulls painted stars of lilac clouds across the surface of the sea.
The wind gently called the rain to fall through an orange sky.
...