Watching from the hill the tired king
contemplated another battle of his kin
against those errant legends without names.
Witnessing the bluish paste for Gawain’s breast
as he had of cardinals and many a vassal
once again he let go of his hold and collapsed.
He remembered many a tale of Charlemagne
and his thousand troupes fainting, screaming
upon hearing of a nephews’ demise.
So many times before had he shown his grief
all powerful as he had ever been in his realm
little boy still roaming the fields with a kind magician.
From Avalon where he spends the sleep of the righteous
again the good lord sheds insatiable tears
while in this obscure world great men laugh.
He considers the bright weapons of the new age
dreaming of the days when he invented chivalry
and men could sigh for the loss of a dreaded foe.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review as well as other publications.