(in memoriam Charles Williams, 1886-1945)
To philosophically argue prejudice on a pin,
wait patiently on fear’s arrival,
Clement brings the battle to the imp within.
A child says: ‘Saturday comes once a week’
and dances free of his impatient shoes,
pride being the marvel every child seeks.
Disorderly neighbors in their vagrancy restore
what was thought lost, thought to merely be
promiscuous breezes through the careless door.
Fear has many kingdoms, many wives,
orders out riders and summons them back,
plants many changelings, stunts many lives.
Goats and trolls and a fairy tale snub,
a bridge, a betrayal, a girl with gray eyes,
the chain-smoker scribbles, erases, and stubs.
A knocking hollows out the wood.
The wood hides echoes in the throat of the cave
where Merlin first lusted and then understood.
Draw many threads into one single ball,
let them unravel and watch them regather
for a game of catch between the tomcat’s paws.
From skin to core, and the space interstitial,
be mindful of what touches and is touched,
darkness glittering off this world’s material.
A fire gives an inkling as a word gives a key,
one leading home, one leading nowhere,
and one for the lost, who might listen and see.