a great unfolding,
a cosmic egg
maybe roots
like how a flower slowly opens
up.
by the road
in dusty sprawl
below an elm
the shadows great
a knight lay loosely
on the ground,
in the sun
beside the road
kind of comfortably haunched;
drinking from
an ancient cask of rhone,
ruminating.
The story goes
Of Charlamagne,
Who was gifted some
godly wine. From
a hidden valley:
River thru
Glacier pass
Butterflys below
Perfect weather
Vines vast, old,
the dew and light,
the wind and air,
of this place
trapped, within,
the fruit.
Only once,
was it shared,
in ebony barrels,
hewn from the woods,
set forth from there, for
the new Emperor of the West
all crowned in gold
clad in regal
scepter, sword, and grail.
A happy day
a bloody peace,
a massive party.
Lost it was,
waylaid withheld,
likely in, some villain's hoard.
But by great sacrifice,
the knight did win,
a barrel of the stuff,
and torn was he
from that ownership.
Fairies,
glades, a
hidden fortress,
a princess,
a sorceror,
tasks of courage,
& feats, feints, family, honor, fortune,
promised lands.
After all,
he had found some way,
some secret stuff,
dawned guided body
judgement survivor,
a known name.
A story wrought
of atoms old,
of messages
between the stuff of life;
coalesced in instant
moment memory.
From vessel drought
sipping sighing, realized,
and supped some more.
In his bones.
He whispered much.
An answer there. He knew it.
All that time,
revealed in ancient glory,
god a
stupor, a
suffered wroth,
paralysis,
and relief.
Even greater still
than wan every single pleasure hit.
All that order
lost and found,
his known surroundings
questioned again
again.
Such beautiful stuff
such unworthy being
some redemeptive
arc, noble warrior
honorable soul.
Beyond all duty
beyond the goal
gallant figure
tragedy, comedy
the final little bit
broken mended
buried
all the answers
the moment of truth
only three directions.
.
