Dmitry

The beetroot fields conquered by pylons gleamed. We felt strangers to ourselves, serene. Rain fell silently, like alms; our gentle breathing formed obscure emblems in the morning sky. An uncertain future beat in our chests, like an Annunciation. Civilisation was now a mere ruin; that, we knew. © Michel Houellebecq, “Unreconciled: Poems 1991–2013”