Imagine a city like a moving ship on water
timelessly held afloat by two rivers joined;
peopled by descendants of a broad-faced heifer,
famously seduced by a saffron crocus eater.
She was carried away to an island through
the mists, and in the not too distant future
her progeny has forgotten the myth, now
blinded by the numinous broad-faced moon.
What are the Gods of this place?
What hubris? What kind of people?
What sentiment overwhelms them?
What clear vision, hidden nightmare?
Let us call our city the Castle of the Moat,
or Megalo Kastro. But then, recently
one of the castle dwellers went
on a pilgrimage in a distant land.
So he stayed overnight in a monastery,
a vision came to him, a false premonition.
As he was dozing off around midnight,
Shadows began to falter, and a purple
light seemed to glow, he momentarily
forgot who he was, he thought: this is it.
Thus beginning with a dream, we face a
test and will need a dream interpreter.