Testo Upon Salted Land

I carried my uncle up the mountain
When his legs had turned to ash
And his tongue became a fine dust

It was a climb he had made before
When his legs were strong
And my long loping gait struggled to keep pace
Pace with him
I reached the green pass where the mountains pressed
In all sides like a swollen throat
And the water gathered in stagnant pools

Like an alter boy's soul
That had shivered the slightest ripple
At the wind's unnatural touch
Where he had announced prophetically that this is where God must live
And I looked around as if God could be found

Like a man wearing a red striped shirt
In a Where's Waldo book
But finding nothing I resigned myself
To cold, cold reflection
I carried my uncle because one night he went to sleep
And he dreamed his life away
A regular Rip Van Winkle
That left his wife to carry four children

And I scattered him to the wind
Like a farmer casting seeds upon salted, upon salted land
Expecting nothing to grow out of it