Anthropological Account

Article excerpt

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,

reddish purple.

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! …

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