Unicorn 5

To graze forever in the poet’s heart; how could this, they asked, be possible? An image, yes; a memory; but could it really live its life within the mind, graze undisturbed, at ease, at home, and glance the grave, sweet meaning in its eyes, when there’s so much of else that fills the world, the mind, outside? Those who first saw it first, were content to be, just gaze, attention focussed as its heavenly horn marks head and mind, drinking in that other which themselves would be; but as its sightings grew, so various, the theorists sought to build an image around that which they had not seen, worshipping a space in which it was not yet; it must be questioned, says the ordered mind. Others who had not seen it wished to have some part, share in reflected glory; maybe learn. It’s understandable. That, too, the creature understands. But those who’d met it, in a forest glade, or, mane tossed by the wind, among the high clear hills, or proud-necked, white-toothed like a smile, clear-eyed, among the white-foamed waves – they in whose minds a space already was; a space, a peace, a stillness - knew, gracefully, that it grazed in its forever, lived within themselves; self-moved; self-stilled.