The old turtle dreams about a lettuce leaf,
when by that leaf, the Emperor appears.
A century hasn’t changed him in the least.
To the turtle it’s an ordinary affair.
The Emperor appears in part, at any rate.
The sun reflects on black shoes right below
two shapely calves in stockings, spotless white.
To the turtle this is just the status quo.
Two legs paused en route from Austerlitz to Jena,
above them, clouds where thunderous laughter roars.
You may doubt the scene in all its splendor,
and if that well-shod foot could be the Emperor’s.
It’s hard to recognize someone from snippets,
from the left foot only or the right.
The turtle doesn’t know what he has witnessed.
His childhood memories are slight.
Emperor or not. How does it alter
the mystery of what the turtle sees?
The void has briefly yielded up a stranger
who flickers back to life! From heels to knees.