A vast plain stands before me,
So large the horizon blends
With its yellow-green grasses.
I’m always walking,
My feet are always moving,
I never take a break.
Sometimes the plain moves
Normally underneath my feet,
But, sometimes, it rushes past,
One step taking me seven leagues;
Sometimes, only two centimeters.
I don’t usually see others
On this vast plain that I’ve come to call my own;
And when I do, it’s usually
Just silhouettes or shadows,
Nothing substantial or solid.
Sound is distorted here, too;
Sometimes low and slow,
Sometimes high and fast—
I can’t usually understand
The vibrations that come from the shadows.
Of course, I can’t understand
The grasses that bend in the wind
Either.
I can’t understand the plain
That moves at different speeds
Either.
All I can do is take one step,
Then another, and another,
Until I finally find out
Where the plain meets the horizon.