The Heralding

The two of them came running
in from somewhere off the sand
And said together, a voice that
spoke for both of them.

“There’s a boat of glass tipped
down there on the tide and
No one is in sight, except the two
of us; the sun is shining
Through the stern, the oars are
missing, the seat is gone.”

They tumbled out the story to me
as when they bring me pocketsful
Of shells; then I smile and sort
the shards of broken things,
Lives poured out of trumpet shaped
homes, the sea’s domestic bric-a-brac.

But those two seemed ablaze with
visioning, they quite outgrew
The displays of chalky surfaces we
had marveled over yesterday.

I must go down, of course, they had
my hands, but make me close my eyes
Until we should reach the place.

I had such terror for them-
for me-for yesterday I had told
Them just such a tale, an Arthur
coming back to be king again.

Not afraid of their inventions, not
that, but of what they really
Meant, and how I might interpret
and escape deceit then find a way
To hear again the storm winds brewed
up in shells laid against my ear.

Raymond Stineford