COURIER AND CONSTABLE
There is no record of time, no record of place,
and the good-day sun shines down on all those
chairs, empty now, soon to be filled with fanning
people. I wish I had a camera; but - again -
I am defenseless in this line of Earth's fire. I
bring nothing to the camp, to the fort, to the
glen, to the village. I am the outsider, the
unfinished one, the strange one from beyond
the woods. Outlier, they maybe call that.
I don't want a different job than this : I
want to be the one who brings you your
strawberries in the early morning light, I
want to be the one who wakes you up.
Glad tidings always, in a cavernous robe.
There comes a time when whatever has
grown begins to wither. If we could just
get past that point - there'd be no need
to record or remember anything else at all.
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