In Keflavik

When the fishing boats come in,
the seagulls gather upon slumbering lava
rocks.
-- their beaks alomost orange in the light.
The northern wind carries their cries through
the streets of Keflavik
--. winding from door to door,
from rooftop to rooftop....
--from the cliffs to the sky.....
and on and on....to... infinity.
Windows of houses are open to catch the
summer wind
and lace curtains touch beams of sunlight .
Floors are scrubbed with the scent of the sea.
If scent had a colour,
it would be aqua
then
cobalt blue.
If motion had a thought,
it would be an artist's brushstroke across a
blank canvas.
People make their way down steel grey
streets to the fish shoppe with baskets in their
hands .
They wait in anticipation for the sound of the
boats unloading their 'catch'.
and become lost in their own afternoon
thoughts...
I used to stand amongst them and think,
if sound had a colour it would be the blue of
your eyes ,
And the music across the bay to reykjavik, to
pingholstraetti street ,
would be the colour of light when the sun
turns orange and the clouds grow soft.
----if sound had a colour....................