Out of the darkness, a consciousness that does not think –
regarded with indifferent love
opens its heart and mind,
unleashing the waves of genius over a dry path.
This is the acephalous man, in his blunt armour –
the weight of the gods is a heavy burden,
as Nodens himself knows in his windy mansio
where anvil clouds throb daily under the sun.
The companionable zephyr, and the chill waters
are nourishing – yet blameless agents,
inattentive spectators in the rows
sometimes taking an Herodian part.
Mummers sowing in the byways –
near an altar foreboding the harvest nemesis,
recall the image of a goitrous season.
black saplings are its fruit.