Sunday, 30 September 2007

Attack on the Artic

Snow haze gleams like sand.
With its lament, it often sounds,
Instead, my mind goes groping in the mud to bring stars
And still, the last day, endless and genderless,
Figures of light and dark…
It's snowing,
It’s returning to a town
Rattling, gasping its last.
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
He never even dreams,
From point to point of meaning
—open? Closed?—
After all, when finally one comprehends…
Snow haze gleams like sand

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