Shipwreck at Djúpalónssandur

Ships on the horizon
Grey as the seagulls wing
The sky frothy white
Separates the living
From the free.

For some years now
Sails have troubled the waters
Their pointing heads
Drawing lines on
Shapeless fields.

How will we do
When we cannot watch from land
Like ancient swords
Our effaced edges
Belie our collective intent. 


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