Euthyphro

Socrates wept, Will you leave me now, O Euthyphro?
Hot damn, he calls back: another time, another time, O Socrates.
(--Oh, what disappointment!)

Oh how true your actions speak, O stranger,
Gath'ring up your local sages for an answer
To your questions (*your* trial?), dodging bantered cantors:

How we have always been so quick to build our borders for the ocean--
Tidy borders for the hungry leagues,
Tiny borders for the brine;
You enquired among the wise abroad the ocean--
Rowing frantically against your sense of timepiece,
Throwing light upon the wisened fools and frantic wise.

-r-

A Little Something as a Christening of Sorts

'For [And] Our God is a Fire that Consumes'

It happened to be Advent when we threw our nets near shore;

There walks a spectre on the shores around our sea,
He who sings and makes his metaphors about our fishing methods patiently;
And he called to the man-isle, drew the boat in,
Hummed some doggerel between his uttering something like the tongues of men...

'(Good lord!) Those silly little vials and useless instruments will have to go.
--No, don't burn the boat--we need the boat--but burn those magick tomes.
--Yes, those masts are pretty, but are they masts or merely show?
Yes, I know you know and know you know you know.
--The compass is good, but read it thus; and shore up those planks before you go.'


(I cannot plumb myself
--My wayward heart, nor music of the spirit, nor borders of my soul--
But somehow I, the fool, imagined
I had cordoned off the ocean of Life into districts from within my soul.
...)

From the shore,
He and we and I laugh again
And the borders crumble again
And the ocean shimmers again
The ocean shimmers again

The ocean is for sailing again.

-r-