[ALT:
art is madness, yes, Melville,
as the words glow
somedays I think the aurora borealis
shakes heaven—silver, lemon,
grass, roses change
a restless
disappearance glimmers at the top
of the north
there are flames
at the zenith and now and again
brightness rays up from the horizon
all this can melt into the moonlight
leftover merry dancers wave
they are the dust from aurora’s
(if she’ll forgive this first name
intimacy) glittering look
now new lightnings
over again
the endless game of it fresh
in this stillness which is after all
infinitude as we can
come by it
on a short walk
after dark
(after Nansen
END ALT]
