Poem written upon driving through Reykjavik, Iceland at night
Alien green overseer,
A foreign guardian,
An uncaring voyeur,
Our progress marked.
As the Tarmac hill subsides,
a great plateau of silver and amber grows.
scattered; ordered stars
sharp and stubborn flames
Edifices of stone,
Each to its own,
An unholy eruption of perpendicular lines
Cold water: hot ice
Shivers beneath the monoliths
Depth no counter to height
Fluidity subject to solidity
Still the bicoloured lights burned,
And the water returned the gaze,
And a green know only to space,
Played in the water, a turquoise haze.
But creeping slowly, breathing silently, squeezing gently,
like a child holding a doomed butterfly,
the land's fingers close on the extra terrestrial.
The shelter built by hands,
To be deconstructed.
the light: ignited by man
Unaware of the impending extinguishing.