Here and there they rise from water trapped in the air
charcoal and black, perspiring with fog,
a little copse of firs flashes past and I want to get out
and crawl into the darkness and lie
on the spongy ground there
and rest, until the roots grow around me
and I can just breathe more slowly
with every gasp of the Earth an exhortation,
'Don't give up now."
It's not that nostalgia and longing are diseases
just that time travel only works in one direction
I would have held on longer
shrieked for the car to stop,
sat on the mossy rocks and touched the bark of trees.
Smelt the rich earth, gotten my nails dirty
my hair tangled, my tastebuds kist,
with the tang of new snow and the jet stream,
stricken with contrails.
In the lurking dim they radiate cold to their very bones
and look upon us with no pity, we are foolish
and made so that we should die beneath their gaze.
here stood armies of men, here hid hunters
and here foraged peasants and farmers.
now their remains arise the ground and make
a mockery of small hopes of a moment's rest
How dare you try and waste time,
in the arms of mountains.