I’d rather catch a canoe filled with hulls:
Take seeds dropped by the birds of the underworld and grow plantations.
They walk in legions in my dreams;
They come to fetch me to myself.
Canoes filled with those on the verge of existence.
Vast forests, thick and dense, are
left on the other side.
Profuse their perfume in the fragrant air.
Who knows what lies beneath? –
Movement is slow, go with care.
I long for a body of water
from the forest to the edge:
I’d rather catch a canoe filled with hulls.
This is a precise journey:
I need a guide.
Take me to them, help us talk, –
find out what they know.
In the centre of the forest world
my guide would speak for me,
ask for me the greatest favour:
seeds dropped by birds of the underworld.
There are these other worlds
for which there is no explanation:
the veil that separates is thin.
They are beside us, shoulders touching,
our hands are always held.
Between these spaces lie the others,
walking in legions in my dreams:
they come to fetch me to myself.
They are on the verge of extinction:
men of power tell us so.
The actors who applaud can all afford
their tickets to the moon.
Look up with shiny eyes –
I am a believer too.
The eagles soar by my front door:
on the lake there are canoes
filled with those on the verge of existence.