It was past noon, and a drove of
sheep lay waiting.
H’s passage was sore. He could do
without more for now.
The river was quiet, and
the air, empty.
H strained his ears. Something was
invisible
in the twilight.
Maug made
a nervous cry. “I never believed
in the beheadings.”
H gave him a deliberate glance and
tried to laugh.
“They’ll be out seeking me,” Maug said.
“What are you going on about?” H said.
Maug answered, “Don’t
laugh at me.”
Standing under the elms, H heard
the door open in his head, as if
he had something to say
but did not know how to begin.
“Father?” H said.
“I don’t know your father,” said Maug.
“Will you promise me?” H said.
Father and son in silence pulled close.
The crab that lies
in its hole is never fat.
H felt
as if he were bleeding.
Was his dazed mind
under the influence of some curse?
He had the eye
of a sailor
accustomed to the darkness of the sea.
But out at sea,
what black thing was there?
A cloud? A storm?
A schooner
tacking against wind
and tide?
It was night.
And H’s destiny hung on it.
Maug’s hand dropped back
like a man who has been dealt a blow.
He said, “Your father’s head
was torn off.”
“Yes, the men
went
down on him,” said Maug.
“The dark
vessel possessed us
and had to be taken.”
Gregory Kimbrell 