Somewhere someone is travelling furiously toward you,
At incredible speed, travelling day and night,
Through blizzards and desert heat, across torrents, through narrow passes.
But will he know where to find you,
Recognise you when he sees you,
Give you the thing he has for you?
Hardly anything grows here,
Yet the granaries are bursting with meal,
The sacks of meal piled to the rafters.
The streams run with sweetness, fattening fish;
Birds darken the sky. Is it enough
That the dish of milk is set out at night,
That we think of him sometimes,
Sometimes and always, with mixed feelings?
~ “At North Farm” from A Wave by John Ashbery (American, 1927- )
Image: The red tower by Giorgio di Chirico