Sloping choral pink, intact and perfectly scarred.

   Marking time, marking weather, marked by jäkälä.

      I fall with your sloping grace, feel my gravity skip the solid surface of yours. 

         I am secure on your map.

            Soles of my feet assured like South Pole magnets rooting onto your North Pole. 

               Freedom in your deep time presence.

                 My fleeting momentary presence, magnified by your eternity.

                 Each jagged edge, a story to tell, and countless corners older than this body of mine.

               But we have met before. 

            Ancestral waves of knowing, ways of knowing, no-ing to what's just over there.

        Over there, beyond the tattered fence, wiry and frail

     Are the fragments of blasted granite piled up in heaps. 

   Dynamite explosions to break up the deep time, the obstacle in man's time.

 

   I sense the pit of my gut.

   

   Cold wind between us, cleansing and forgiving this warm body with whole granite.

      What will your fate be?

         Will you soon be obliterated too? 

           Or are you preserved for future picnic spots for another decade or so?

             Will you still be whole next century? Next millennium?

     Over the wiry fence.

             Granite blasted apart for the grand synthetic plan.

            This body merging and grasping for all it's fleeting time,

         Wanting and wishing to fall together.

       

         

         In that timeless time.

 

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