1978
6.152
1.vi.25
Þingvellir
hills of the wind
the world begins
here are the ones who went too far
a sky came down to them
by wagon or mounted
mainly on foot
low birch and high cloud
birds for between
a tent pitched
voice in the scrub, moss upward
sun gone and back in a blink
it’s as if the Earth spoke
here’s the upheaval
stone troll still today
waves of it
summer we’re all night at
creviced
the place of fatal falls
a parliament of nowhere
inventing from the first
it’s men like stone deliberate
sword soon as
flower is soft to the touch
wilding here
where time takes up its truth
like making up a world again
from just these stories
just from this sky
a whim of light
hollow and hilly
the fire before we ever were
like a sunfirst winter sliver
that was the beginning of time
there wasn’t a king in sight
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