Nine stitches needed - we didn't make the one in time.
Nine fast stitches, swift and accurate
While the four horsemen gallop closer
The sky reddens
The waters rise
And what matters stands incongruous in the smoke.
We have no right to panic or plead ignorance
The doors of the courthouse are open, hanging from broken hinges
The rhetoric is lost in the roaring, the beat of the helicopters
The exhausted bravery that has to continue.
Our vision became global
The mirages shimmering in the heat.
The screen in my hand brings me the scans of Hugin and Munin
Winging intelligence back to Odin
Whose one eye is more than enough
Who rides his eight-legged helicopter
Whose spear has penetrated the heart of the alien goddess
Gaia, from another mythology older, more frail
Her shocking beauty fading
Who cannot be stopped
Whose powers of resurrection transcend the shackles of time
Who will endure beyond the end of our fragmenting
Tumbling round the constant sun.
