Granola and Pemmican

One traverses a terrain marked by clear peaks of day-lit idées fixes,
Isolated from each other by valleys of swampy ambiguity and doubt.
One would fain construct bridges from peak-to-peak for fellows and return,
But rope is wanting and must be conserved.

One would fain find repose on a lofty promontory on whose shoulders
The horizon tensely bends as the bow of truth. But, spoiling the view, one sees
In the distance still higher golden peaks at which one's current height is
But another penumbral trough.

One would fain press on, over rock and brush until one alone breaks the blue sky-
Yet what happens now? The firmament darkens and one must rest with the sun,
Or be swallowed by some toothy crevasse. Also, since wild beasts abound,
At night one must sleep hidden in a cave.