The world's Image
From the dark spaces of memory
I emerged, rising through a pinprick of light
in the gloom, on all sides the falling
bodies of dead song-birds: these trees
that cast no shadow on their own reflections - I
fashioned them, forging, hammering, working the metal.
And so I found myself, in the wind, fully fledged…
Who
will keep clear a road for me, care
about the solitary journey
I make, torch in hand, in search of home,
or stride towards this body when it's
blackening in the blazing desert heat?
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