In Iceland, We Cry Together
The snow capped mountains were
by Herbert Nehrlich
the first we saw, ears popped a bit
and the big bird descended now,
you stirred there, in your window seat,
and grabbed my hand (you holding on?)
soon we were whisked with moderate speed
through GREEN and nothing to declare,
you looked at me (do love your precious eyes)
as if to ask what needed to be known,
are we, that's you and I and one delicious band
that ties together all our needs and wants
a pair of loonies, totally bereft of déja vu?
Nice beds, a view of glacierville, tenth floor.
Like you, I am partial to dark satin sheets,
we need a rest you say, and slip into the mode
that gets our heartbeat into canter's perfect sync.
We asked to have no phone, no wake-up call,
no brochures of museums, tours and sights,
if God has other plans for us at all
we'll hug and then we douse the silly lights.
In limbo, (you said more, but who could know) ,
we're in this featherbed, it suits us, it's the best,
you are delicious and we both do need a rest.
Should all things fail we'll blame the miserable weather
and if we cry a million tears, we cry together.