This book contains
the solving of the paradox.
It was found with keys and locks in a stone chamber.
The lid took an age to remove.
The text is very fine, high. Not human written.
Its language is alien, translated into that of early Earth,
first civilization speech.
Its scribe, perhaps humorously,
describes itself as a bird.
Its plan to fly away once its task is done.
Scholars would admire it for its poetry only.
Attempt to locate its author in some pre-Biblical time,
somewhere in what became Sumeria.
Its first words I quote:
Book bird wrote. Begin.
From land crane cry, from oceans whale song,
wind and silence else.
Creation seems simple till the mind attends to itself,
considers the rope riddle, craves its untanglement.
My word path the paradox will present and solve.
In a hut on stilts, above marsh reed and water, I write.
It goes on so, for many pages.
The book is silence made solid.
It disturbs, excites, like thunder,
more searing to the soul than inferno's gate,
holds the fear of shoreless ocean,
when open, no secrets then.
Cyclops sat by his
stone stove on his stone chair,
ate black bracken
broth mixed with red kidney stew
with a wood spoon
from his wood bowl,
in his cave half
way up a hill.
When one decribes
such an ogre what can one do?
goats, sheep, hawks, even vipers have two,
so why have I but
Why so singular am
beneath the blue
but unresponsive sky?"
he groaned, his
belly bloated and fed.
He lived by
himself, so no one heard what he said.
His friend, the
centaur, he visited,
far down in the
hoping his dim
had grown less
I cannot solve.
Why with only one
eye did I evolve?"
he asked him, in a
"Why ask me
who is half human, half horse?
How can I riddle
right?" the centaur replied,
who to himself was
always right, of course.
off, felt alone, with none on his side.
The faun was no
help, being half human, half goat.
"It is as if we are all in a myth some