Short Arctic desert day --- 

  and someone left their snow-shoes in the tundra. 

Look around every which way 

  but I can't see just where the footprints go. 

Is it a casual disappearance? --- 

  Plucked from the middle atmosphere 

  like straw wind-blown. 

No speck on the horizon --- 

  no simple message scrawled 

  upon the snow. 



Unearthly visitation --- 

  someone left their snow-shoes in the tundra. 

Hungry buzzard flier 

  circling round and round 

  rattling death's tambourine. 



Have to run it down the cold wire --- 

  late insertion in tomorrow's lost and found. 

Should I spread out searching? 

  But I'm a little thin upon the ground. 



So I raise my lips to coax 

  the last drop of brandy from the bottle. 

Rest my feet and contemplate 

  the mystery that's haunting 

  this Siberian space. 



Show-shoes they bind me down --- 

  I'm just one more parasite of the surface layer. 

I begin to get the feeling 

  I've been on this stage before 

  and I'm the only player. 



One more Arctic desert day --- 

  another set of shoes out in the tundra snow. 

I make my fade to white-out 

  and you can't see me where my footprints go.