Before him a desert Crowned in glass Scratching its life From the dim beams Of the Pleiades. Of what little comes Much is made of it. The precipice beckons. New modes and disorders He contemplates. A stone’s throw Will break the feet of clay And fell the colossus Constructed against itself. Behind the portico Statesmen sigh, perplexed. Sprawled on the arms of clocks. When all veils are lifted There is little that can be done. Amid the shattering glass, He smiles at the forms and shapes That dance upon the hurtling shards, Like a sunset fragmented Across the horizon. For a moment, Arches, spires, columns Arrange themselves At speeds unholy By arts unknown. Kingdoms of the elsewhere, Unimagined republics, Crackling with strife, Living and dying all at once.
by James Himberger
fh 6
