The Light the lantern   was back

on fire  blinkering

it cast no shadows                                                                                                                           it didnt illuminate the Hermit

                                                             he watched it for hours through glass  searching it 

and around it for the slightest shift  an alteration of brilliance  a flicker of fabric or bone 

button or glint off the forged talisman he knew the gnarled Hermit to wear

               the Hermit wasnt clandestine or prone to stealth  His robe was long and heavy 

and dragged the earth like clumsy rake tines

His step was measured  but also heavy

he took the glass from his eyes and rubbed them furiously

                                                                                 inside his head their vision sparkled   

white stakes crackle and crimson stars  finding one another they cloistered

and collapsed in on themselves

then clambered awkwardly and blindly in their sudden dark

                                                                                                      until a spark caught

and revivified they danced again

he slaked his thirst with cold wellwater from a ladle held in a wooden bucket he had

drawn before bringing the glass to his eyes

                                                                         he dipped his wrists in it

                                                                                                                       his heart 

quickened

then he filled his hands  cupping the water  and splashed it on his face and beard and 

worked it through his curling mane

he didnt believe the Hermit was dead

only banished

                                                                   and awaiting the right time to emerge again   

as He had before

not knowing Time  He didnt know patience

and had He its concept or known the darkness He stayed in 

                                                                                                             he wasnt sure

that He wouldnt be restless or angered

He was many things  but many of those things wouldnt have been desirable or deemed 

qualities

he returned the glass to his eyes with an uptake of a breath that wandered out of his 

mouth a reluctant sigh

                                        a jettison of nerves exhaustion and relentless willfulness

he understood Time

he knew patience

he knew He knew who pushed him into the fire and Light and lantern

     

                          Time was a limp matter   a snail crawling over the edge of a razor blade

senseless of everything else

except                                                                                                                                          where it was going

and on its nameless heels

stalked the Hermit

2318,  Friday,  18  7. 14