He went further than he could not go.
Holding the waver of light in his green hand
He disappeared beyond the impossible. No
Word could befriend him in that friendless land.
Then the impossible grew its usual fruits.
The monsters withdrew beyond his ring of light.
We found him talking to us – the old disputes;
For we had been waiting for him, all the night.
And so we met oursleves agin. And so
Once more we were one of him; until one day
Wanting to meet us, he prepared to go
Further impossibilities away.

Norman MacCaig

[ it would seem that I'm fully disappearing into a Autumn Poetry place ]


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