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I've had enough of myth for a few days.
It's time for Cheetos and a cold Pop-Tart,
and maybe a few episode replays
of podcasts I've been wanting to restart.

But myth will come again—it always does.
Jack Lewis would be loath were it not so.
Few combat him on that front, though, because
we love to wander where they let us go.

And why, again, does wandering thus give
so much for Joy to drink? What does it do
to those who cannot ever really live
like those the folks in our folk stories knew?

Because we wish to. And our heaven may
be just as mythical and grand as they.