Playing with love
Love might be a little bird's heart
that glides between the clouds
in search of the euphoria of reluctant hope.
Love might be a scrap of paper
that swirls in the apathy of vagueness,
old and beaten by gusts of wind
until someone accidentally steps on it
in the high street on a busy Friday.
Though it's more probable
that love is a missing piece from the picture
of the mirror of the soul
-- passionate generousity of hopes and fears
that nest in my mind
and send out a brood of feelings
at regular intervals.
Einleikur á regnboga/Leikur með ást.
Þýðing: Martin Regal.
Photo: Inga Lísa Middleton.