At First Sight

When people who read too many books are smitten, this is what you get.

AT FIRST SIGHT

by Brett Rutherford

You are my Ring of Power,
The hurled strength of Thor's hammer,
The Chalice, Excalibur,
Swan-Knight, archangel bright,
Siegfried awash in the Magic Fire,
Tristan, The Green Man,
The last Mohican at the wood's edge,
Golden-fleeced Jason, Perseus fleet
winged down with blade and polished shield.

And as for me, I am just a poet,

the sum of all the dreamers' words I read
and marked as my rude guide and talismen.
I was called Edmond Dantès once,
betrayed alike by friend and lover
until I became rich and vengeful.
I was Nemo at the helm of The Nautilus,
unperturbed by personal passions,
implacable enemy of unjust nations.
I was stern Morbius on far Altair
weighing the wisdom of the ancient Krell,
withholding love for the more-than-human.
Paul Verlaine was I once — three times
I regarded the young Rimbaud
through the clouded cafe window
and I walked away and returned
and I walked away and returned
before I dared introduce myself.
Forlorn I walked to a London's dawning,
fortune and reputation spent,
betrayed by Bosie, to my prison cell.
With mates I wept for slain Sarpedon,
and on the other side of the battle,
beat my shield for Achaean Patroklus.
These hands for Emperor Hadrian carved
the first immortal marble Antinous.
I despaired of all love at the organ
I played beneath the Paris Opera.

I was the avatar of solitude.

Why does it shatter now in a breath,

one head-to-toe embrace reducing me
to volt, amp, and constituent atoms?

You are my Ring of Power,

The hurled strength of Thor's hammer,
The Chalice, Excalibur,
Swan-Knight, archangel bright.
Siegfried awash in Magic Fire,
Tristan, The Green Man,
The last Mohican at the wood's edge,
Golden-fleeced Jason, Perseus fleet
winged down with blade and polished shield.

April 3, 2019, rev May 2, 2019