Narrative

The Odd Narrative Steamed up window my finger I paint a landscape, Mountain, forest and a lake; the peak cries into the lake it becomes a vast ocean, where trees, are made into wooden rafts floats. Midmorning, there is only an outline left of the crest, this will happen to Himalaya, it will be a grassland on a plateau, where horses gallop, flying mane and all that, since man won’t be there to domesticate and make them drag bunk beds and kitchen stoves around the pampas. The rest of the world will have sunk into a big sea that is so still it spends all its time mirroring the blue sky thinking it’s seeing is so deeply in love with the image, that doesn’t notice the man in a rowing boat; he’s one time forgot, he has married a big fish which he thinks is a mermaid, every so often he puts his hand in the sea and strokes the fish’s belly: “without you,” he murmurs “I would truly be alone.”