From the Verse Essays of Ivar Benløs: The Weeping Willow by the Road Has Grown Green and Huge

When I imagine myself
As someone I never was,
The man who never knew here
Where I do live existed,
A parallel hypocrite,
Ruthless, weak, and privileged
A thousand-some years ago,

I wonder what made him laugh,
Jolting along on his shield.
Was it cruelty only?
Did he, on his conquests, look
Around at the green islands,
The Celt and Latin stoneworks,
Clouds, roadside weeds, and know joy?