There is the Fool
Holding up the Godhat
There in the Godshack
There in the Desert
And here is the moment
Upon which all things turn
The stark cry of the hinge
As the Gate opens.
And who am I amidst all of this?
As foolish as the Fool
As Holy as he hopes to be.
Who am I amidst the drama,
Within these sayable words,
Underneath this insanity.
We drink to the night.
This night so like all the others.
And yet, what arises
To our benedictions?
These words,
Can you even call them words,
Ring as hollow as all time.
I speak and listen.
I say nothing.