Sigur Rós at the Filmore in Detroit

The four translators of sound bow

under glowing spheres, floating 

replicas of the planets and stars.

Gracing this one from across the sea with

greetings in their native Icelandic tongue.

Beams radiate in color, my insides illuminate. 

A cello bow saws at a guitar and

this small world of listeners explode

in applause, thank yous for transcendental euphoria.

My skin tingles with hair rising

as my muscles relax.

I hit the wave of awe centered around

the rush from chest to brain, 

from brain to sky and

for a moment I forget the confetti in my hair

and the thousand others being reborn

in the rainbow blizzard.