## Paradiceland

Traces on volcanic ashes,
within the dome of sunlit heaven -
the air - like glass.
To the horizon: cone-shaped mountains,
ice-covered rock, where earth spat fire.
The crater now - a deep, clear basin,
it's sky-blue mirror curled by trouts.

Climbing the rocks to sulphur fountains -
where geysers pulse in ancient rhythm
and earth spills out an unkind blast -
the probing look of the lone wanderer
is greeted by a net of lichen,
eroding rock to humid soil.

And somewhere else on higher places
a furious cauldron lies beneath -
the thunderblast of falling waters,
the coolness of the wet, clean air.
And all above - a strange, new wonder:
the prism of a crystal rainbow,
just like a sigh - a bridge of light.

Klaus Gölker © 2000-2026

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