To Beatrice, A Figment (poem)

To Beatrice, who is merely a figment.

Words of careful science over supposition;
Subjection of hearsay to unwavering critique;
Challenges given to each breath,

         attempts to perceive honest revelations;
Unshared constant hopes for Socratic syntheses;
And rejoicing in the risk of extravagant mistakes,

         each error a dancing puddle.
Such harshly heretical things led to anger.
Then to resolution and that final, silent withdrawal.


But I saw you go, weary from unopened, unwelcomed evidence.
Watched you turn your back on my broken walled home,
and thumb a lift to the only godfire singed mountain
The sorceress fears to climb.
I miss you Bea, regret the loss of your light.
We saw the mystery of ages, the circular soul temples,
Yet never learned to trust in the safety of disagreement,
Or to debate our doubts instructed by firebird wisdom.

Farewell ancient friend.
Be well, follow your wind paths, and fly.

15/1/2018