1237
22.v.23
4.142
on towards the egg
at Vatra Dornei
mud and the
track’s sun patch shifts
this is the
way up, on towards
the big
world, all sky till we touch
the woods of
birch turn cloud
onto the
dungway of donkeys
I follow by
bottletop plastic
by wrapper,
by rust, through
vast electric
arms, tracks
of great
trucks, lesser beasts too
breathless
at such incline all
not a word
heard but the roar
from under –
that’s this century of mine
where all
the while the clouds are kept
crawling further
than anyone sees
so squirrels
in their round around
just noted,
as soon gone
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