Before we go to the island, however, answer me this, my love: If you are Marina, I’m no governor of Mytilene; if you are Miranda, I’m no Prince of Naples. But if you are Mara, I must be Ariel. Now tell me, Marietta-Prospero, when our story’s told, will I return to the tree or be set free?
Prospero and Miranda, Pericles and Marina, the fiction of the island, the world as lasting storm… Motherless daughter?
I find myself feeling sad at leaving Akureyri. How can I be missing Anna and Gudrun so soon after having left them? I think of Prospero and Miranda, Pericles and Marina; I think of the father I might have been to the daughter we’ll never have. Why do Anna and Gudrun move me so?
Mara Marina, Mara Miranda, in light set my feet in your footsteps, at night echo your footfalls in my ear. Open your mouth and breathe on me. Ruah! The wind in my face, with each stride I lay down the bounds of duration: I walk the world. Will you walk with me?
Mara Marina, Mara Miranda, I hallow my lips in the hollow of your sacrum; in the small of your back I retrieve my boat. Where next, my lover? Between the blonde a glint of blue says, ‘I’m yours to discover’. I hoist the sail and set out to sea, other shores to explore.