The Journey by Hilary Llewellyn–Williams
Setting out again, taking the road again
that leads to some new city
Adocentyn
or, for the time, Geneva, Avignon,
Toulouse or fabled London; setting out
in the dark on this purse full of whispers –
go there, take this, speak to that man
who bears the sign we know of – hurriedly
fastening the points of my long hose
seeming natural to me now
abandoning these streets, these squares
these clever, spiced gardens, in my heart
a vow to return
and a lifting spirit, a joy
taking flight, driving me on.
I shall wheel round and round
this world like a Moon, like a comet
leaving a fiery trail
Never resting until I have seen
the City of Light accomplished
and all my friends safely installed therein
gathered from here and there. With this dream
I fill my spare moments waiting in the rain
for promised horses, or a weary trudge
across town after an absent-minded fool:
all the loose, empty hours
between me and my destination. Tonight
the sky is plunged thick with stars
my wild companions, hurtling with me
to an unknown end; which does not matter –
only the journey matters. I breath
clean mountain air: a vision
of Nola brushes past. Adocentyn.
Perfect place, place that never was
nor shall be ever, compels me.
No end, then, to the dizzy Universe,
no end to my journeying.
In ‘Hummadruz’ 1987
and picture By Victor Schauberger
posted by johnthebarman at 6:48 pm
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