Light met us at the bar door,
shook hands with our heads
and was patient.
Settling in eyes between
in there and last night, and
out here and this morning,
great insect-clouds of ash
moved us to dance
through Reykjavik morning to
something more bass;
something more base
between magma and rift,
vodka and mixers,
little rivers of fire in us
that would burn for months when
we finally got a flight back,
and begged still to talk about it
years later, that chance meeting
in another country,
with another kind of light.
___________
Ewen Glass (he/him) is a screenwriter and poet from Northern Ireland who lives with two dogs, a tortoise and lots of self-doubt; his poetry has appeared in the likes of Okay Donkey, HAD, Poetry Scotland and Gordon Square Review.
Twitter/IG/Bluesky/Threads: @ewenglass
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