A Third Person Omniscient

Where did they find the third of his person;

When did the blind man’s gyration

Cross the spectrum of all his ambitions?

To become a place where he was done

Wrested away from forms and from bowels

That had been from her beginnings.

And that have forevermore held as one;

Though never have they shared the forebodings

That brought them to this single place of blue mornings.

Where the garden’s stones tell many an epitaph

Held precious by all those who came to rest

Below those mighty boughs of armies who once stood

Firm against the rampaging forces in an immoral quest

For all knew not - his place; or her time; nor their graph.