The big boat, belly full of colour
bodies, floated up to the clouds
no longer moves around
the high mountain
which begins to grow down

Like a seed capsule, it snaps open
fertilises the slopes with blood
from the old world, with codes
of the secret of life
freshly written

going to travel over the earth
as little arks, swimming arks
crawling, walking, and flying arks
little blood trunks
full of prehistory

of the world
the real world
not the true one
that mankind
would create