Magazine article Soundings
This is a long distance field trip
to frozen, slippery mountain tops
frozen reefs which have surfaced slowly
silently, of their own accord;
the friction of frozen waves' rigid planes
the only sound in a clean, white, unearthly panorama.
My presence is merely a breath in the solitude.
Strangely, thin, clear clouds and mist
feed nostalgia for the earth's warmth.
Is this all that's left of the feast of colours I know?
Nine suns radiate, eight moons' glowing circles
and the turbulence of stratospheric waves,
What is left of the wind's quiet swish
preserving the sound - your faint call, perhaps
from behind this reef, now starting to drift away?
Earlier, these two frozen mountains almost collided
but in the end didn't even touch.
Now they will sink, albeit slowly,
swallowed by a slow-moving current
- the dream dance of approaching death -
foundering in the deepest sea.
Who brought me here?
Where - who - am I?
There is an alcove in the building where we sit
separated only by a pile of books.
There is a bench on the front porch and - heavens! …