The mountain lifts as memory: Fire Mountain where are you now? A frown, an insight, one calculation, and the mountain is out of sight. Rocks, trees, old orogenies: the instinct that lifts its voice and roars, is the impulse of regret. Why am I here? Why am I anywhere at all? Being is as strange as being is. When the soul is withdrawn the Beast walks free. But what a beast! This Beast has depth- less eyes and a genuine sneer.