The city surged through my reclining body.
White hot sun, static in the heat, thundered,
red-glowing eyelids brought forth thought of the city,
of the roaring city, diminished to dull whispers.
The grass my cushion, cold on my beating neck,
and the wandering shadow of the oak, whose still stand
my sole companion, the rest fallen away.
My historic being, island in the flux, enclave.
Thus I was when old man and voice,
Sprang from the space beyond the tree and spoke:
“Invisible to yourselves, human beings,
ring out the same through ages, running blind
always forgetting to begin to learn again
your single fate, you beasts, you dolls, WAKE UP”
My eyes were open and let in horror, the blackness;
for the grass, now sharp and deepest red, was crackling
and the heat was pain in purest form and leapt
from the ash-body of the great tree, burning.
High up stretched the rigid, panic stricken branches
black by dancing fire surrounded, screaming…
When suddenly I awoke, and peace
surrounded me, and the city.
Crisply waking, and feeling a certain discrepancy
between my sodden body and the dry air
the biting wave of cold from a mild breeze
resting now in earth’s shadow, sun descending.
I cough, breathing exhaust, as the machine passed.
Feeling the carbon dioxide draught, light-headed
and the sun set, casting a glare so fierce
as to ignite the whole horizon…