An Ethnographer's Note
When I write this moon on my eyes
Who will read?
In what language will you discover
Your surprise
At the boundary of words
Babel high between you and I?
My moon is my only representation
Of what I believe
The full value of my understanding
Of rising stars and falling leaves
Pictures to embrace
So alien to your tactless taste.
To understand me the invisble today
You become me
No clock of periodisation to sway
No stagnant unit
Of analyses confining me to yesterday
The unshelling od love.
To understand me - comfort zones disallowed
You must accept
My table at the rim of your history
Is only marginal
Memory since Colombus caravels sailed
My moon was not impaled.
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