The Council
When night falls, perched around the old fountain, they watch the world with unblinking eyes.
“Fountain with Owls” (Fontana con civette) Ferdinando Noulian, 1914
The Council
A dozen members poised as one,
A conference of owls,
The liquid night,
A sacred sight,
The pallid light,
In ghostly white,
As high the moon she prowls.
In unison they scan the scene,
Occultic in their guise,
The fountain’s flow,
In moonlight glow,
A silken show,
As breezes blow,
High magic in their eyes.
The corrugated mountains,
Form an enigmatic ridge,
Such jutting crags,
As midnight drags,
As winter nags,
Salvation lags—
We’re doomed without a bridge.
The wry satanic fortune,
Is a pall against the light,
The owls they know,
The deeps below,
The shadow show,
The undertow,
And cluster in affright.
Harbouring together,
They achieve a common boon,
The strength to see,
Our destiny,
The secret key,
To set us free,
Is hidden in the moon.
Forests lurk unnerving,
In the travesty of time,
Calling out,
In voice devout,
They softly shout,
“It’s rank throughout,
Flee to a brighter clime…”
adamdaniel 