Wednesday, January 6, 2010

A picto-poem


High Grounds
                                                  by Tatiana and Irina

Oval footpaths on which I hesitate towards the top 
of a  snow-covered mountain.
As if the day was an obelisk of fire, a monument crumbling down
 in the early morning mists,
An eddy of your sight, captive in the ascent of  light.

Ready to grope for the hill in front of me, I slide down in the 

rambunctiousness of a bird’s eye view,
bifurcations of details caught
by  the chimeras that come and go, prowling, in a solstice’s bow.

The evening draws near. 
In a whirlwind, it tears down the tents of these high grounds,
where I thought I would find asylum from the tide of flames, 
while catching my breath in the rhythm of the mountain
 creeping in my veins
and its fluttering, melting snow.

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