stretching out their hands as if to grab the whole
of the world,
"Did we not speak of this to you?
You stand alone, and when we turn to leave -
you will die without even a twitch
from the nose of God.
The world moves on, moves on - old man.
No place remains in the halls of memory
for you. The world is quick and swift
to judgement, merciless in her damnation;
where shall you go - all has gone before you
but he will hear no more than a few scattered
words of their speech, nor will he pay heed to
Sitting on his perch on the edge of the world,
in the last throne room of the last stronghold where
the earth still ends in a shower of
mist and foam and power into a
watching the fangs of unnamed leviathans
gnawing at the surface of the deep -
he will rise up and set sail from the brink,
perhaps allowing himself a glance backward
at a world gone strange,
and, catching the last gust of the North Wind,
allow the abyss to swallow the tail of that impossible
Sail - for a year or a day
and find a place fit to sit and think.