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.