Black and white in my mind
it's always winter here.
Where are the colors of northern summer,
ash flowers of innocence?
Are the childhood dreams
now up days?
Yes, it's hard to keep
life in the summer.
I write clear formulas
on the blue screen.
Buckus mé r now there is a
shadow brother's invitation.
Failure in old companies.
Hear the voice of the storm?
Hearts filled cool,
so far until the spring announcement.
Between eight and the year's day
man's children sleep
and seagulls echo
over Reykjavík.

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