Waurd-smiðr

- jan-u-wine

(a tribute to the Professor)

Always,
he gave them to us:
 
mathoms*
without match
or price.....
 
jewels netted about
by magik,
 
s(words) of joy,
sweet
 
and bitter,
 
silent as the dark beyond
a solitary star,
 
sound-full as the music
of First Day.
 
Not even he knew
from whence
 
they all came,
 
these words,
strange -
 
familiar,
 
falling like rain
upon the pages,
 
crafting him
within their liquid turnings.
 
And in the end,
he became more
 
than a simple smith of words,
 
more than one who might shape
with tappet or hammer,
 
tongs or fire or pincer'd chisel.
 
And those of us
with eyes
 
that  may see
 
recognize the forging,
feel the clarity of its fire,
 
in the letter'd gift of his love.
 
__________________________________
 
*far from the meaning we now assign to it (of a relatively worthless object, which no one wants), the definition of "mathom" is "treasure".