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Catherine Simmonds

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Alftavatn

Ask us what we laugh about
our blown out code
all sky
unusual bright,
I can’t remember beginnings
or where they end.

To the fluid land
we play at falling
with light tricks
and light words
but the kite knows us
as too quick with the uncertain ground,
too restless.

Games are ill-advised then
here, where everything novice
and altered states
lie trapped
under every footfall.
You knew this -
that the light hides here
and desire of water, uncertain, turns to rain.

So still,
close, breathing,
we become held as the land,
precarious,
not sleeping -
not waking either.
After this
the marks lost,
there is no more of us.

The cloud falls on Alftavatn,
the sky kingdom
like water, the haven.
The stones act dumb,
as if they don’t remember what they know,
as if this hasn’t changed,
and blown apart before.

 

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