Part three:
An artist etching
Pencil lines of
Cognizance:
Eyebrow strand, a nostril base,
Vein in a lower lip
A smudge of jaw
Tip of thumbnail
Dash of earlobe:
A boatload of people
Rowing along a vein.
Then:
Dumb Davy swallowed
Visions pulsed his neck
Though temporary landscape
Caught his breath
When In a sudden
Quintessence leapt
Hurling him to the rail
Fingers clawed him
Somewhere
Blood River thrashed
The mane
Shattering the mirroring sky
And poor Davy was fed
By the Artist’s pencil line
Below the bow
To the bedroom time.
Above time: the rage
Below: the peace
Drifting south
Davy dancing
Cast an eye
Had seen the rippled smile
Of his blood line
Of story makers
In the beginning;
When pressed lives on sheets of rhyme
Then touched him.
Each story panicked
In desolation spoke
“Don’t forget me
Don’t forget me!”
But even the first Teller
Is alive to tell the tale!
Why the pages panic?
Why we panic?
We, the first leaf
And at the last
But will remove
Til Davy found
The pebbling shell.
And pressing to his ear
Sensed the whisper:
“Hear the story line
My Son!
You are remembered.”
Davy is in the bedroom time
Hooray! Hooray!
We are so glad
You came.
The whispering story men
Exclaimed.
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