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).