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The Eyes of Keyholes
THE KAITUM
Dedicated to N.H.
We never got to drink from the Kaitum up there
in the hills, where the rocks are smooth and white
and where the river begins as melting snow.
We had long prepared for that adventure, waiting
for the driest day in the driest year, but already
above Killingi Falls we lost our way in the marshes.
In the evening, as soon as we’d found our bearing,
we hit upon a wall of rain.
Lately, everyone who can afford it camps there.
Helicopters laden with Hongkong Chinese land
in untouched nature. My friend, the thirst for
the Kaitum has dried up. Empty is untouched
nature even there where graylings are like roosters
among trout unless those who can’t pay come to
them. Without you, who at midnight steals away
from your sleep with a fishing lure and reads
the water in the moonlight. You leap from boulder
to boulder like from skull to skull.