after all
the mother stays
afloat
in seas
sailing the mind
she is in the place
he once belonged
she
is the siren
in his heart
~
there is nothing here
but braying night
black vision
black noise
black heart
blackened hope
for what may yet come
he shines
the glow from a pointed arm
his suit light
touches ground
to show the way another step
will lead him
how long
his arm will shine
he cannot know
cannot bear to ask
beneath his feet
the ground
tilts
upward
his suit shows
the signs of strain
but another step
dragged though the unseen dust
drives him
towards elevation
he can’t see far
but
this is mountain type
his clambering
seeks the high ground
and when the peak …
then
he will rest
the longest rest
as systems fade
there may be a day
of better light
when his colour
contrasts
with the landscape
they will find
his suit
and then
they will find him
a lone guru
on the mountain top
perhaps …
he laughs
a choking laugh
… they will grid the point
and give the peak
his name
the first to come
the first
to go
he lets the dust fall
from a tilted glove
© Frank Prem, 2017
March 2017 Poem #11: the nascent days of Vicugna Air
