‘November in Reykjavík’ by Cheryl Moskowitz

  Last night I watched you breathing, listened to the graylags squabble, and caught what could have been gunfire but turned to fireworks in my head; a celebration. And in the dark – it is always so consistently dark – I tried to reconfigure time and wondered whether now, at 4:26 am, we should say the day has already begun or if the spell of … Continue reading ‘November in Reykjavík’ by Cheryl Moskowitz