Imperium: A Bedtime Story

In the story of civilization there is this:

Charlemagne conquering Saxons

Made them choose baptism or death.

After beheading 4500 in one day,

He set out for Thionville—the road quite

Wintry, horses awash with bloody snow—

Where he’d celebrate the Lord’s nativity.

I tell you this so you will fall asleep

Thinking of the rise and fall of empire,

As the tabby buries her nose in wool

And squints contentedly.

For Hegel,

The spirit of philosophy would rule

In some future age. Geist he called it.

Armies still ride along that muddy road.

Lullaby: beat, beat of horse hoofs.

The Venerable Bede dictated

To the boy scribe Wilberht

Right up to the hour of his death,

His voice breaking against

The wet hills of Northumbria.

His only worldly goods, “a few treasures,”

In a box he ordered brought to him,

So he could hand them out, at the last

—Some pepper, napkins, incense.

Now close your eyes.