The Chasm Poem by Doug Stewart

If by lasteen you pretend to know
How and where and when the fattened
Flowers go when last they finish their
Dayward travel and glide down softly;

If you insist you ken the secret handshakes
Of the last five eternal secret societies now dead,
Or own that Oak Island is your private hunting preserve;
If the stars obey your commands and the sun your call

Then we have little to discuss and even less in common,
For I am more honest than that, and I do not suffer blow
Hards nor braggarts, nor fools in the guise of wisemen.
But if you would take the chance, just once, to see

Into the Land beyond the willow, beyond the crumbling
Walls and strut in the halls of the mountain king, swagger
Beneath his aerie in the clouds and dance among the stars.
If you can place yourself, but for a moment, I’ll extend my hand.