a bent and shuffling figure searched out a place to die.
His lips were cracked and bleeding. A fever gripped his mind.
He crossed the wadi yesterday leaving all he'd known behind.
His dark eyes glared in madness. The hot wind whipped his sleeves.
Across his chest his fingers clutched a skin of paryrus leaves.
In the calm between his visions when some thoughts might be his own
he remembered what had led him here to the edge of all that's known.
Wise Counsel he was called one time; in a life before this other.
A poet and a scholar, embraced by all as brother.
Then they cast him out on pain of death, streets lined to watch him go.
His crime; seeking higher things he'd found too far below.
He pored between the written words in tomes of ancient lore
the dusty voices teasing of a lost and secret door.
Calling on the Elder names spoken not since time began
in his dreams he traveled to a cold and distant land.
Across the frozen Plains of Le