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(C) 1997 Don Mize
The mask is off --
or so we’re told.
The sand is clearly seen,
stretching before us.
The spyglass is carefully kept,
wiped,
used
to pick up this or that
speck of sand,
carefully replaced
in its polished wooden case
as we move on into the stretching sand.
We never finish the jigsaw puzzle.
We work endlessly,
constantly,
but the pieces never fit,
nor can we discern
fhe fragmented picture.
Yet, we carry the jigsaw puzzle with us,
carefully replacing each piece
in its polished wooden box
as we move on
into the stretching sand.
Some thought the death wish
explained the unexplainable,
tied everything together,
finished the grand scheme
as they moved on
into the endless sand.
They are behind us now,
dead,
buried,
and we move on into the stretching sand.
Even Merlin cannot help:
his spyglass is broken,
and he cannot fit
the pieces of the jigsaw puzzle.
We are Merlin,
called on to work some magic,
to cast a spell,
to see a vision.
Our escort is dead
and we frantically
try to raise another
as we move on
into the stretching sand.
Crockett, Texas
1997
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