It was shine
The field beneath us was thick
And footprints flattened each blade
As they went in twos
Toward the stage, an alter
For the musicians of Iceland

The sky was livid in greys and purples
Palms kissing just a whisper of cloud
Far off over the ocean.
But here, here with burnt sage
And purposeful apparitions among
Hollywoods resting place we gathered,
Hushed at the sound of dampness
At the sudden plume of upward smoke.
The bass hit the earth and woke
Perhaps only the freshly buried
We covered each other’s hearts
And felt the rumble and the sound
Our eyes locked on the magic in the air
And your blue ones lit like glaciers and
My green ones like emeralds
As the violin bows hit and his voice
Reached our ears we held hands
Hands held the last second of the
Fifty-four day countdown still beat
The blood through our veins
Each vein still pulsing with love
Music magic of Sigur Rós
Of lands far away that can’t really
Exist but in your heart, and you can see
All the hearts hanging over the ocean
Waiting, just waiting for his next note–
The last symbol chiming through
The tombstones.
The horns vibrate
The mausoleum walls,
The chorus guides
The trampled grass back up to vertical,
Spreading the sparks from the center
Of your chest to your throat and down
Down through every peripheral.

And the memories of those we lost
Whispered amongst the graves
Echoed after us as the band still played
And the hush was broken by a little
Unbridled excitement, failing to wait
For the next hit of his bow on the guitar
Hallow instrument captured the song
And all awoke, returned to earth
For a sold out concert