Tundra

Short Arctic desert day --- and someone left their snow-shoes in the tundra. Look around every which way but I can't see just where the footprints go. Is it a casual disappearance? --- Plucked from the middle atmosphere like straw wind-blown. No speck on the horizon --- no simple message scrawled upon the snow. Unearthly visitation --- someone left their snow-shoes in the tundra. Hungry buzzard flier circling round and round rattling death's tambourine. Have to run it down the cold wire --- late insertion in tomorrow's lost and found. Should I spread out searching? But I'm a little thin upon the ground. So I raise my lips to coax the last drop of brandy from the bottle. Rest my feet and contemplate the mystery that's haunting this Siberian space. Show-shoes they bind me down --- I'm just one more parasite of the surface layer. I begin to get the feeling I've been on this stage before and I'm the only player. One more Arctic desert day --- another set of shoes out in the tundra snow. I make my fade to white-out and you can't see me where my footprints go.