his assistants are the stars
even the moon leaves a pallid mark on his engravures
his thoughts spill like dreams then spool transient as a nightmare plays out the dawn
the wise man struggles to scoop up all the knowledge just before the universe collapses
all our histories are blinded by time and all our futures
the fires of wisdom run up valleys and appear as votive lamps on the land
they are lanterns which guide the future and gild the past
Flynnpoetry 