Karl

Your logic
sometimes trips over my artist's pallette
while neon light fades and colours the equations
-Infinity-
Cobalt blue and midnight stars
that turn to notes and letters tumbling from my soul
unto sheets
pages of dreams written upon sun-faded paper.
Thoughts and sounds are recorded in time
like scattered poems that are hung to dry on a clothesline in an
Icelandic snowstorm.
Your voice,
like the waves that chased the sea-stones on a summer's day would echo
through my dreams.
Your sagas,
crossing the night like fishing boats coming in at high tide,
wove lace patterns upon frosted Reykjavik windows.
-Breathing the past and the present-
your voice finds my dreams and makes the canvas real.
You,
always chasing infinity's equation
within the soul of an Icelandic snowstorm
like minor Bach
playing upon the heartbeat of a fugue.