round barrow

I had a vessel of self to carry
and I snapped it in two,
never trust my transit

wave by wave she asks,
in the vast lull of it

ancient mountains,
stooped low,
gray and grave

archaic hull hill round with
barrow the wights frightened
inside deaf of mysticism

of times, of times passed

we always look behind,
is familiar, is easy

back to the future, as Homer says

what’s the point of looking forward
unless oracle divines you? all hours familiar,
happened before, before now
in circle
in cycle
unbreathing

parting green boughs of the ether reveals  

dawn    chimeras marching in vast numbers