Glade
Somehow the difference
between imagining things
and actually seeing them,
compared to the gulf
that separates the living and the dead
seems trivial. He
whom multiplicity conceals,
adorns, reveals (and whose name be exalted),
may He grant that the Grail
be revealed to Perceval, the forlorn.
Meanwhile, having for his efforts
gotten ahead of nothing,
Perceval reins in, deep in the forest.
And where memory had a way station,
a sanctuary, with its lone hermit
conversant in the language of the birds …
silence in a glade.
But for the shush of wind in trees,
but for the sighs Perceval heaves
from beneath his expectations.
