יום שלישי, 25 במרץ 2008




Not dribble of sand through neck of a glass
but the rattle of scree beneath the tread of a man
as he makes his traverse, as he climbs
between sheer heights in a resonant place and hears
no sound but the pipes of the wind
and the drum of each breath
and the shedding away of stones at every step.

Gael Turnbull



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