In memory of

Jónas Þorbjarnarson (1960-2012)

1.

The dark kaiser’s ship,

deep-keeled, cuts the water

from head

to head,

breaks

and sinks.

*

The one who

is here to tell us

what it means

to drown

also knows

the miracle

of lungs filling

anew

with air

when the body

shoots up

to the surface,

treading water,

gasping for breath.



2.

It seeps into the brain,

the black sea:

the hold fills.

I am below deck

and run up the steps.

Out of the porthole,

a leviathan

*

an enormous sea serpent

like those

half-submerged

on medieval Icelandic maps.

When seafarers

feared such creatures.

*

I am not afraid of them,

Jónas.

*

I am afraid of drowning.

*

In a world without miracles.