Riding, riding, riding, through the day, through the night, through the day.
Riding, riding, riding.
And the courage has worn so and the longing grown so large. Never any mountains anymore, hardly a tree. Nothing dares stand up. Unknown buildings huddle, thirsty, by a marsh stream. Nowhere a tower. And always the same picture-- Man has two eyes too many. Only at times in the dark can a man believe he knows the way. Perhaps we return day after day to the same piece of land that we painstakingly won already under the strange sun. It could be. The sun is heavy like it is at home in the middle of summer. But we took our leave in the summer. The dresses of the women shone reaching for the ground… and now we ride all day. It must be autumn by now. At least somewhere, women sadly know of us.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
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