A bad earthquake at once destroys the oldest associations: the world, the very emblem of all that is solid, has moved beneath our feet like a crust over a fluid; one second of time has conveyed to the mind a strange idea of insecurity, which hours of reflection would never have created.
A road at once destroys their lights: Their
stories — your path of all that is small — have
moved beneath our feet like the truckers
over some doors. Hunters of time
have conveyed to the mind a strange idea
of the river.