The thought determines the action, which determines the location, which determines the way.
I climb down galleries of glass,
I jump through wagons of green light,
I stumble into other wandering bodies, certain of their mistakes.
I return to the surface, there’s yet a breath of the sun left.
I climb up zinc tiles,
beyond the walls of cement and clay,
I see monumental clifs, cool to the touch.
They shelter a forest, from where I contemplate the sunrise.