And then
there was the journey
I took into death.
You didn't want me
to leave, but by then
you will recall
I was a mythological hero
and had to go.
The myth demanded it.
It was late autumn
already.
In the silent surround
of wombwinter gray days
I walked the brown grass
heard hissing cystals of frost
beneath the cold passage
of my feet
as I reached the bridge
at the frontier
as I became lost
to your sight.
Months later
I returned over the blue chasm
riding a stolen horse
shaking with knowledge
of endless winter.
You met me at the frontier,
and the grim certainty
of your steeledge voice telling me
I should have stayed dead
slashed the brittle armour
of my remnant courage
left me bleeding bright
red stains in the snow.
You spoke of leaving me
so you would not
shatter me entirely
but I was never certain
then or later if you knew
that my destruction rested
only in that leaving.
As it was, I stayed
a long time after you left
frozen
at the bridge approach
beneath snowrapt trees
before I could move again
before I could escape.
As it was
I had to leave
parts of myself
there:
I hadn't the strength
to come back whole.
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4 comments:
How perfectly bleak for the sleeting, numb, beginning days of winter-coming, here in our northern city...and so flexible, this poem, applicable to warrior-lovers returning from battle AND distant schools/far-flung adventures/voyages of self-discovery/forced separations due to work/etc/etc/etc, all alike.
I'd worry you're depressed, from the pictures you're painting these days, if not for the mischievous glint in those coyote eyes. And the irrepressible, sharp-toothed grin. Not to mention the extremely cute, perky ears.
Nonny, I've suggested earlier that these pieces are photographs of different places and points in time. They are documents rather than an ongoing diary.
And to Lucy: We mythical coyotes do not play 'Seven Things' (to do so would leave too many paw prints) but I have been fascinated, as I've followed your very interesting tag list across this space we share... you do paint in your own style. Keep painting.
Coyote,
I drop by here everyday, sometimes, more than once, to see if there's something new. Thank you for putting new things everyday and for sharing them with everyone who's interested.
I understand your problem of leaving too many paw prints...
Thank you for the encouragement.
Perhaps one day I will be able to illustrate one of your poems in ravishing hues and forms. Till then, i will gormandize them gladly.
Smiles.
You're welcome, Lucy. Gourmandize as much as you wish. And I for my part shall continue to read your site, and the many others your avid, questioning mind finds. We coyotes often smile, too. I smile now.
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