Dreaming the Neolithic.
The caves of
What did you expect
other than a rhinoceros,
looking off to the right
on parchment that has somehow
survived centuries of war
and freak fires,
the kind that periodically trim
even the greatest collections
of masterwork after masterwork.
The deeds of Ecgtheow's son,
most noble of the Geats,
smoldering alongside
Byzantine codices.
---
Imagining a lesser victory.
I'll probably go blind,
later in life,
but not gracefully like Borges,
rather, mad like Belisarius
cursing the genetic betrayal
of my eyes
while Byzantium
is under another attack
by the Bulgars.