From the North Pole all directions
are south. From the tip of the gnomon
all directions are past and downward
so you step up, into empty air,
the halls of thunder, the glass floor of sky
paved with cirrostratus tiles.
There are no landmarks here. Navigate by
pigeon auspices. The compass spins on an axle
of childhood desires and fancied slights
pointing Dream by Dream-Need
across the geography of memory
and into the unexplorable future
where rivers you can't step into
flow over stones you can't refute.
Collection available! Knocking from Inside
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Geography of Memory
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1 comment:
You couldn't have said this any clearer. We are definitely locked into our geographies of past and future. Well done.
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