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Ararat - Paul Griffiths 

The journey has been difficult but now, close to the eastern border, we can stop where the mountain stands to the north of our road. It is very present, yet defies our looking. Its mass and distance are undecidable, and we dispute over which of two possible peaks is the greater.
At the mountain’s command, we stand in line, hands and cameras pointing. Some of us begin to walk. Perhaps a few paces forwards will, in some secure sense, close the distance between the mountain and ourselves.
We traverse a gravelly plain, raising dust at our feet. The surface pops and flips around us. Even the soil seems unsettled, until these small events resolve as trapdoor spiders, curious to know what disturbs their ground. The mountain refuses closure. We walk back to the road.
on an old photo
dust and mountain collude
— the past lost

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