A Royal Glasshouse Poem by Marcel Aouizerate

… and then, years later he would think back about this event,
Although this would not have been the first time nor the last
He'd been exposed to the choice, and this perceptive man,
In his country now inhabited by a dwindling number of
Gods and goddesses, would revisit his puzzlement.

When they chanted their exuberant carol
Across a deserted room, and in the folds of a quiet night,
There was always the possibility of pain and
The hope for concord. After all, this is
What the long date was about: scarlet wreaths
One cannot hide anywhere but in plain sight.

He would leave aside the obvious articulation of their ages,
- only reflecting a vain reaction to time passing, mostly in
Educated men -. The more central enigma would rather be
How they - or she - had organized scarcity in the course of the trade.

They had talked and never met. Occasion given
'You can hide things in the vocabulary », things which
Wouldn't fit in glasshouses however regal, for this is where
One stores stones for upcoming fights.

And for a time, when the situation would present itself again
In slightly amended terms, he would question the reality of the event,
Appreciative rather of the economy of such strange charade…