On The Surface Of The Earth Somewhere
                I lived a thousand years in Asia,
                in Asia Minor, near the Caspian Sea
                dark red grape mashed with blue
                the rivers Don and Dneiper.
                Purple orange skins cover the herdsman's hut;
                black and smoothe stones click and beat to hoofs.
                Bearing down I can not say I see them, as ghost
                to me they are. Children rush to greet them.
                Lifted water freezes to limbs outside a tree
                and brush puts up at my door  as I step to see what this is.
                Colored blankets cover hides,
                beast of burden modulates
                between them and the sea.
                Meteors in the sky shower
                stillborn light in the distance
                above and reflecting in the face of men
                under clothing.
                Fair the children rushing storming
                undulate undulate recently left
                their mothers holding.
 
                On a Turkish moor the herd detects
                 a fresh and new oasis,
                 the vallies of the mountain passes,
                 they part from the cracked and barren land.
                 I can not remember when none of this was here,
                 certain that it wasn't.
                 Lying on my bed of slab
                 a thousnd years ago.