domingo, 11 de agosto de 2024

The Treasure

 

Mount Everest




Mountains, a moment’s earth-waves rising and hollowing; the earth too’s 
an ephemerid; the stars—
Short-lived as grass the stars quicken in the nebula and dry in their summer, 
they spiral
Blind up space, scattered black seeds of a future; nothing lives long, 
the whole sky’s
Recurrences tick the seconds of the hours of the ages of the gulf before 
birth, and the gulf
After death is like dated: to labor eighty years in a notch of eternity is 
nothing too tiresome,
Enormous repose after, enormous repose before, the flash of activity.
Surely you never have dreamed the incredible depths were prologue and 
epilogue merely
To the surface play in the sun, the instant of life, what is called life? I fancy
That silence is the thing, this noise a found word for it; interjection, a jump of the 
breath at that silence;
Stars burn, grass grows, men breathe: as a man finding treasure says ‘Ah!’ but 
the treasure’s the essence;
Before the man spoke it was there, and after he has spoken he gathers it, 
inexhaustible treasure.



Robinson Jeffers





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