Skip to the poem.

All right, so it doesn't have a title. It's been referred to as 'that gods-be poem' and 'the poem in dactylic octameter' for forever.

Thusly called because of the rhythm pattern. I don't normally write rhymed poems other than pattern-poems, and certainly not in dactylic octameter.

This is a love poem. It is a love poem for two men. Aside from that, no explanations.

What is the difference 'tween sunlight and starlight, 'tween

cool lazy breezes and wild storm winds?
Where lies the mark between evening and morning, or

Midnight and noontime, or sunset and dawn?
How can I separate light out from shadow? Though why would I rob me

of all that is deep?
The shape of the pattern is forged in its difference; the ends and

beginnings are lost in a song.


I have drunk deep of the broadest of rivers, the deepest and


gentlest, the cool shining blue
Felt the caress of the slightest of breezes, the warmest

of sunshines, the kindest of dreams
Seen the bright scales of the dragon in motion, his eyes

filled with fire and his action with grace
Touched the rich fur of my lion of noondays, curled

my hands in his mane and myeslf by his side.


And I've been drawn to the clearest of streams, a great rushing of


water, a joy-note of sound
Heard the approach of the rumble of thunder and not

fled the lightning but turned into the wind
Strong though the current be, forceful the storm, I take

steps in the darkness and face down my fear
Patiently waiting, to brush through the river-fog

Finding in moonlight the one who is there.


In passing I've thought on the paths I've discarded, and found that the


ones that were true I did take
I've half-drowned in currents too vast to imagine, and touched at the

depths that are far beyond ken
Seen shadows and lights of a time unremembered swirled deeper than

moonlight in sun-dappled eyes
Reached out to caress a sonata incarnate, a dream with a purpose, a

hope with a soul


I have been told that existence is boating, a coracle drifting,


the will but an oar
And rocks that are hardships, and slipstreams and eddies, send

whirling away from their course many ships
But /I'll/ raise my sail to catch breezes and storm-winds, sleep

out under sunlight and sparklings of stars
I've learned from meandering that new lands have beauty, and maps

are poor compn'y on any known shore.