Smooth and blue and creased
like an unironed shirt,
it is for a split second
warming, and then freezing
needles-in-the-palm cold.
I pass through a vault
in the azure ice
into a courtyard of light
and look up to see two
shards almost-but-not-quite
touching: they are meeting,
yet they are also parting.
By the same degree
I am here, in Iceland,
watching a glacier melt
in Katla’s molten glare;
and in my imagination
there, in Kew Gardens,
where Henry Moore’s bronze,
Oval with Two Points,
holds the light in tension.
Which is to say:
‘I am here.’

COMPAS Poetry Competition 2013
First Place