the swimmer was a man whose face wore a jagged ravine of time
as a canyon far older than the ages of men is a sculptor of the future
they struck out across that dark lake within that wider round of dark
in a myriad of directions not unlike the diaspora of the Jews
he sought to grasp Excalibur from a stone supported by the mists alone
at the edge of the light in his mind a temple of Avalon
the sword elusive as decades and decades of time
thrust out of the rock
to be clasped by an iron clad fist
yet an elusive one tired as the bones of men
capitulate then blow away as the dust of yesterdays never reach their destiny
as delicate as envy
no traces were found
the origins of King Arthur drowned
freighted with history
Flynnpoetry 