It's just a universe away,
No more than a day's ride on monkeyback.

Your hands gripping the stiff bristle of the ape's neck,
You can feel the sweat of animal fear on its skin
As you race the paths across the cold blue hills
Where the northern winds blow clean through your skull.

All at once there you stand
On a vast green plain
Where funnel-shaped cumuli rise from the ground
As if the plain were a cloud plantation.
The white cotton shapes grow rolling into the sky
Like a silent flourish of banners in the wind.
From time to time
A cloud grows ripe,
Its dark summit swelling
Into a brooding thunderhead
That topples over from its own weight,
Breaking on the plain in a wet explosion,
Sowing the seeds of another cloudy day.

The dew on your skin,
It isn't sweat
But water bled from the air.
The air is so wet it's a drink;
With every breath you are drowning.

There is no going back on foot.
And where is that smelly beast
When for once you need it?

Your monkey?
Your monkey lies dead in the hills.