in parentheses

I.

That in the city there sleeps a king, who stood alone before the walls of time and chose the errant way as all those peoples built thicker their walls higher their towers and let lost Colossus, who maundered the desert far until there ascended white mountains upon the incinerate horizon as a red cloud rose off the dead and crawled up time’s body and spoke all of this the way of fire my sadness for the losing testament of the earth, who went in through the fire and came out unto an unknown country and erred his way out finding rest and leaving no marker for the eyes on the summit behind seeking out some new to give time to teach age to begin death again, who erred without end till his heart came to hoar and his bones to a shivurr and here he lay down to waste away into a cairn and under the last sky he opened his eyes to take in all the world and said until then only I shall be your king so I shall give you my name lovely Arcadia

II.

Clouds cross upon the baccate sea and in the far yarns of mist begin to veil in the freshet of dawn the face of an unknown kingdom again, following the narrow path out the city of confusion to stand upon the last wharf weathered to shambly legs by the turmoil of the sea, watch the mist raise the sheer veil to heaven’s bust and call out to the king when when to leave this mansioned heart behind when, when the last of the city is lost behind the raised veil and there disappearing am I passing through hearing someone say Colossus