Going up turns out to be too difficult
Going down is dizzying
Back wheels go forward
Just ahead is a castle.
The grey Sphinx with its deft claws and its questions
sets the gears in its own manner.
You, as an observer,
may twist your moustache (if you have one).
Count backwards. Zero’s the limit.
Only one thing is important
Here we are in the desert. Alone.
Together. It is morning.
Imagine yourself on a roller-coaster. Or a tread-mill. Rests,
of a reasonable length, are permitted. If life
were a ride on a bicycle
we would probably survive it.
These are the vicissitudes: Land as gravel. Land as asphalt.
There is always a van, to gather
in the pieces. And there I am, behind you
(you can see it in the picture).