Last night
new waves of emigrants backpacked the borders
into neighboring countries;
most politicians were shaking hands
at the world summit,
others were touring troubled territories
preaching permanent peace.
I was with my spouse,
and a few hundred folks on The Queen Mary,
when we hit the deck at sea.
For the inconvenience
they gave us a bonus:
a field day in the longest known cave.
I couldn’t be more thrilled
as I had always a hitch to explore.

Now I’m not a climber
because it’s easy to foresee the peak,
and since the sky’s the limit
you can go no higher.
But caving is different:
you never know to where you go,
your routes twist and turn in darkness,
with neither view nor progress
except what you imagine in your mind.
And when you reach the end
it’s just another place, often a small one,
barely large enough to contain your body.

Yet there is no end,
it’s you, you cannot go on caving.
You may have missed a tiny hole
that goes on.
But if you make it,
there is nothing like emerging
into the starry night.(Samsara?)

This morning
during breakfast
I had one of my apocalyptical insights:
the only probable salvation
for all those left out
is to wave
the bat population
at the entrance to Mammoth Cave.