towards a naming

after all
the mother stays
in seas
sailing the mind

she is in the place
he once belonged
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
his suit shows
the signs of strain
but another step
dragged though the unseen dust
drives him
towards elevation

he can’t see far
this is mountain type
his clambering
seeks the high ground

and when the peak …

he will rest
the longest rest
as systems fade

there may be a day
of better light
when his colour
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


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