Facing out from the bow of the boat,
he scrutinizes the shameful sea running
west to a blood-soaked sky. Welded together,
past and future vanish into this haze.
He sits meditative, watching the wild dance
through the trees flanking the Congo,
foreshadowing the horror he was bringing.
The sky shrieked at the approach of the sun,
as the horizon lost its grip on another day.
Marlow turns away, folding his pamphlet.

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