I’m missing Iceland, which I was looking forward to a year ago. I remember when Kath and I moved into the apartment in Laugervatn–there was an odd black dust on the balcony…well, of course it turned out to be volcanic ash. When we drove to Vic, and saw the black glacier, the ash was still so thick that it was being removed hourly from the highway. I was recently thinking about that Icelandic wind–an open car door resulted in outward rush of maps, candy wrappers, cups, bathing suits…everything.
***
Black Glacier
intimation of ice sheet
volcanic ash covers the highway
black waves on the black beach
rush like terrifying horses
red church at Vic
or the stone monument to lost seamen
at the southernmost tip
shape of a rune poem
name of this dipthong
which is either god or barley corn
(or both)
volcanic islands, striding trolls
turned to stone by daylight
although you longed eventually for darkness
black headed gull and the arctic terns
spelled out an alphabet of birds
on the sea’s black page.
Miriam's Well: Poetry, Land Art, and Beyond 