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The Fog of The Altar

To Jules Verne


A man feeling drowse at the top of the mountain, fell asleep.

He dreamed dreams
  emanating from floods of seas.
 In remote droughts,
 he gave his fruit of smoke
on a simple altar.

Curd quartz opened
 solidifying thousands of stamens,
they glowed
like the warm reflection of the stars on the sand,
the man kept close watch of the r.e.m. hour.

life is the strife of one baptized 
in the depths of all his memories,
yet he forgets before awakening.

  Founding himself face to face
with another man holding a frozen fish
and a bucket,
they begun the climb down,
What do you fish when you fish,
he asked,
for a bolt of fire, said the man 
as he released the fish into the ground
and rubbed his hands,
cryogenics? 
no, fisherman. 






Copyright © Roxane Aristy

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