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.