Chapter Forty-Nine
To sea, tired as sky,
to sea, broken as sky,
to sea twilit as sky
when my solitariness worships.
The ladder of the railway is long,
the ladder of the railway is without end,
the ladder of the railway lies down to sleep,
the real name for the clouds is snow.
The wild grass in the dense bushes abounds,
the wild grass in the dense bushes is intertwined,
the wild grass in the dense bushes is like hair,
but instead of lice, dead fish make it their home.
These words don’t refer to me, t
hese words were born before me,
these words, these words are instead of a mudbrick wall:
the grass that embraces the dust is waiting for you.
-Belgi
The original of this material, from the IMU file “Autumn 2000”, is covered with markings in red pencil and various notes. It is
