(from the book of illusions)
last night I dreamed you cut
all your hair off and used it to make a bed in which we
made love, an the facing wall was a mirror
and when I came I saw in
it that you were no longer with me.
you sat in a chair lacquering your fingernails
with green nail polish made out of grasshoppers.
you said: red houses are your wives.
then I woke up because I had bit myself in the
shoulder. it was half past six.
otherwise everything is fine, it is
cold here but warm enough for an old
bye, your friend
Translated by David McDuff
In Poetry Review, vol. 100:1, Spring 2010, from a special feature on Icelandic poetry by Jason Ranon Uri Rotstein.