vision

Photography of Iceland's volcanic rivers by Andre Ermolaev

I came across a photograph today,

aerial Iceland, ash, river, sea.
It took hold like images sometimes do.
Appearing on the dark inside
of my eyelids, a voice

familiar yet cool and wide,

drawing me to things cobalt or cream; 

flapping on the periphery:
a volcano, a road,
a slow s-curve. 

It partnered with Antartica
seen from space. 

Glowing in my mind
like a bulb I hadn't meant to look at directly

or for so long.

Antartica seen from space

My children are asleep, 

my husband also on the coral-colored couch. 

Tomorrow is the Fourth of July
and outside I hear explosions

I would otherwise think

was thunder. It could be thunder.

But without rain or electricity battering

the curtains, I remember tomorrow.

 This is Manhattan,
not some sleepy suburb with teenage boys

with illegal fireworks in the empty lot
along the river. 

Who here is already celebrating

without a host of police swooping in?

Rows of windows looking 

at nearly every space; nothing empty,

nothing left unseen. 

My son is restless
in his sleep, and calls words I cannot

make out. Like the blue shadows

of volcanoes or continents

surrounded by sea.
I close my eyes.

A bloodless hawk,

steely drone or satellite, shutter

snapping. I see the slow drift

of colors over land, soft

and warm, a shape

familiar.