From “In Tripolitania”

July 19th, 2010 § 0 comments

“On her belly before the open atlas, Mathilde continued, every Thursday, to tell us about Tripolitania. She made up this fantastical land from scattered memories garnered from every mythology. The boatman of the dead was named Clovis. He had but one eye in the middle of his brow, but to light his way underground, wore a living owl on his shoulder. Like Noah, he’d survived the Biblical flood, and ever since, along the rivers of sand that ran beneath the surface of the earth, he conveyed mortal remains to the heaven of roots. It seemed marvelous to us that in the desert of the dead, the same trees, Aconcaguas, could put forth both infinitesimal buds, barely surfacing from the grains of sand, and roots so long and dense they charted, all the way to the center of the earth, a world of grottoes and gorges where the torrents of that inexhaustible hourglass grew lost…” ~ Maurice Pons

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