Reykjavik

“Rake-ya-vik” Try to say it I say...

Only having learned it myself a moment ago.

“Try to say Rake-ya-vik” I say to her; she, that is a sleep short of three.

She, that led us here to this open sore of a country, this shredded space, where the air wants so badly to get away that it rends flesh on the way out, freezer burn skin.

It can’t have been so very ago we swam with rainbows. We lazed away twelve score sunny runs away from this deep sargasso sea. Where the english word for sun was insufficient and we give in and call it sol for we were wrong to call it what we did.

It could be called sun here. A weak friend,a soiled pet...it barely stays up there round here.

Slinks low, as though the party was days ago and there is no more need for these well wishes.

But we are here now. In this land of greasy grey fish (demasiado gris). Here in this brambled mylar scrap of soirees recalled only with maximal help - a breeze of ice pushed down from the roof of the universe.

We’d conceded she would strike the path and set the route when she spake us thusly -

“I am of you, and I am my own, and I am all. You do not, you can not, you will not understand.”

In this order explicit, in this way, we accepted our unanticipated journey. She said those words in that order with ice-from-the-coldest-day clarity to us both upon her first birthday, upon opening her full-sized eyes directly into our own. She filled us, us that did not know we were empty, us that were complete prior but were now a superset of multitudes, she filled us with this quest that would replace all that was else. Two years ago tomorrow.

None of the rest of that year matters. Forget it happened. All was “normal”. She did not speak again in this way. Aside from loving coos and little pieces of fragments as her physical engines could absorb and retort, she conveyed nothing more.

One year ago tomorrow...again the same words, upon first opening of roundness light...

“I am of you, and I am my own, and I am all. You do not, you can not, you will not understand.”

Now adding...

“On this day one year from today bring me to the Iceland. There I will share with you the purpose.” One year ago tomorrow. Another year of averages. And now.

Here we are. On an escarpment on a shore I do not know. The three of us a day away a world away a sea away away away...

“I do not know what tomorrow will bring, but I never did before, either.” I say with breath that returns for redistribution within my own lungs, “and I guess it doesn’t much matter”.