.
THE ENCAMPMENT
You must know them:
They were the weathered ones,
Been-there, skewered-'em sorts,
Long past rancor and looking
to
Something beyond the night
And the hill.
Quite fitting they should share
A bit of smuggled desert magic
With the poor bastard who
Didn't want to be king either.
Three Etruscan grunts,
A pot of (wink) vinegar
And a happen-to-have-one-here
sponge.
The trickle of human kindness
Flows much farther through time
Than the torrents of history.