Author:
Stephen Collicoat
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Date Posted: 23:29:04 05/15/05 Sun
It takes three days
For the river
In which I stand,
Water flowing around
Or between my legs,
To make its journey.
Three days
To skirt the mountain range
And cross the plain:
A quiet progress -
Untroubled by brigands,
Unchallenged by sentries -
Until the river slips
Unnoticed into the city.
But in the city, river water,
Humblest citizen of the realm,
Is welcomed into every home.
Busily employed at court.
Familiar, no, intimate
With the royal personage
Who sinks, sighing,
Into its warm embrace
Or swallows it by the beakerful.
If I was
As dangerous and elusive as they say -
The dark magician of every treachery -
I would turn
My flesh into glass
And draw this river
Around my shoulders like a cloak.
Walking invisible
Along the river bed.
Waving at my enemies -
The shadow of their deepest fear -
Until, one day without warning,
I would flow into their midst.
And there,
I would send out
My glass hands and glass mouth -
Trusty assassins-
To strangle the tyrant in his bath
Or, when he swallowed water,
Gnaw like a wolf
Upon the royal gut.
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