I travel on past the lapping lake under the smokes
That swirl, trying to reconcile what is with what
Lives as known quantities dreaming, seething
To be so well noticed and appraised, forced.
What holds the way through by Zoar, so many
Have wondered, the telling so small compared
To the stretched and drawn faces we thus see,
Yet I can say so far what waits this dire way…
Old nightmares forgotten come to the fore
Where we had done our best to be absolved
Of their casually shocking horrors, they lie
As alligators beneath stagnant waters here.