I feel the cold scrape,
it shakes me;
warm plastic caress on every unexposed part:
Our star is here.
.
A siren calls to itself—
pieces between the clouds—
I’m incomplete
.
A silent bath.
.
For a moment
one cloud peeks through and I wonder if I’m still alive.
.
I come up short,
but I keep coming.
.
I keep coming.

East Iceland, Summer, 2021