Batty's Saga, Part III - Adrift

Entering the kaleidoscopic ocean,
Adrift in sensations, a voyage of discovery.
A solitary figure with his wheeled grip,
Trudging down Langahlíð, across Miklabraut,
The city is still waking.
A room with a view- just a sliver of sidewalk.

Opera for lunch, a stroll by the harbor,
A walk up Öskjuhlíð.
Back to sleep, just a nap.
Waking- night or day? Who can tell?
Night it is, and sleep comes again.
Tomorrow will come soon enough.

Day, breakfast, students, unhappy Ðora,
Snow, Snæfellsnes, every minute another vista.
Impossible, stones speaking,
Speaking, listen!
Giving witness to their lives
Life-blood flowing in waterfalls.

The horses' hooves rumble,
They come to break reverie.
Looking for apples,
Looking for attention,
Farewells, and then
Back to the City.

Þjóðleikhúsið.
Frightening in appearance.
Lovely in reality.
The theater- a dream, not a play.
And the words flow, incomprensible,
But the drama is clear.

And the days go on and on.
Reykjanesfólkvangur, even wilder vistas.
Íslandsklukkan in oil in Kjarvalsstaðir.
More art, in museums, in galleries
In windows, in attics.
All of it Terra Incognito.

Nauthólsvík at dusk.
Defenseless and captured by
Three weird sisters.
Talk, talk, talk, connections made.
Night ends too soon with
Dancing in the mist.

A warm swim below freezing night air.
Walking back to the guest-house,
A quarrel's discordant melody
Drifts across the empty street.
Its tune lingers in my dreams
One more day before landfall.

The landlady's daughter sings
A skip-rope song.
The Hardfiksur salesman at the door.
The children's tombola on the corner
And all the cats, with their own city-within-a-city.


Again. Once again.