Fergus's Epiphany

     Fergus’s Epiphany

I niver did see he wis a man afore nou.
With a man’s hart, and a man’s soul.
I niver anticipatit ta see the flux o’ real bein’
in the eyes of a gagger such as King Edward.

O the strangeness of love, its flux, its imperatives
the whole wairld fosters, maykes a brither of a miser.
When love filters thru the particles of
even such a tyrant so flawed by his appetities,
he re-enterit the wairld as dew frae the bog,
an’ joynes the percolating universe.

It’s in the air, as dew rises frae the marshes and the firth,
The break doon o’ matter, the atomic smatter, the wavelets and
Particles all dancinit ‘pon the water, all flittrin’ thru the misties,
a dance o’ becomingit, a song of our longinit,
in ether love dancinit, the particles of beingit…
And the one wha dares ta sigh fer love,
will nae be kilt nae die, O.

For he’s infinitely divisible and fundamentally risible,
all laughable the particles that ripple thru his corporeal;
nae matter, nae murder, when love’s in the ether,
ye rise frae the bog on the dew, O.
Ye transpire, nae expire, ye evaporatit, recoagulatit,
and ye niver kill a lover when he dares to love anither.
His anatomy is all atomies, aye ye niver kill a lover,
even such a gagger, even such a hoggit as King Edward.

For we’re infinitely divisible, and fundamentally risible,
and we’ll rise frae the bog on the dew, O.