He is the watcher,
Argus.
Eyes black as crows feather,
Reflected winter moon
Stained against a frosted blue sky
Sails through his vision.
Scutter.
The charmed one.
The witch's helper.
As I watched him
Beneath the weathered trees
The land for a moment appeared changed,
Under the light of spellbound moon,
Sharp as a blade,
A spear tip,
A glinting polished shield.
Shadows stirred and grew,
The grinding of corn between stones,
The hunters breath,
The stain of blood in the snow.
Like the woodcock in the sedge
I froze in stillness
Until released by a blackbird’s call,
To gaze abstractedly on the path of the hare.
No comments:
Post a Comment