Returning after a three year absence. So here is a beautiful poem
as a passport for re-entry.
It's by Rolf Jacobsen.
THE INVERTED SUMMER
There's a second summer burning on the earth--
the inverted one, that grows downward in the dark
like the mirror image in the still lakes.
It has hanging trees and white grass,
all twisted as if by secret winds.
Do I know where reality lies? Am I
root or am I crown. Aren't there stars
there, too, made of faintly glowing stones?
as a passport for re-entry.
It's by Rolf Jacobsen.
THE INVERTED SUMMER
There's a second summer burning on the earth--
the inverted one, that grows downward in the dark
like the mirror image in the still lakes.
It has hanging trees and white grass,
all twisted as if by secret winds.
Do I know where reality lies? Am I
root or am I crown. Aren't there stars
there, too, made of faintly glowing stones?
