“Leaving Fingerprints” by Imtiaz Dharker / I know this frosted landscape / better than it knows itself, its layers / a busy clock of history, still ticking. / Under my feet I feel the train of the slug, / the snail, the earth’s deep squirm / around an anklet, an amulet, a broken cup. / Lost, the names of the ones / whose fingers made and used / and threw away these things, / written and rewritten in the calligraphy / of roots. The worm’s heave / and turn delivers messages up, / scribbled in flods of soil and mud, afterthoughts / that grow into trees, trunks with arms / branches with fingers, twigs with nails, / scratches on air, tear / after tear on a white page. / These names have given their artefacts away / to be sparse as winter. Here I am, they say. / Here and here for you to see, / fingerprinted on the sky.