Red stone spirit of the knight -
do you run the stones of fright,
or is your dead road guided by
a velvet glove and raven's cry?

Does a shadow stalk you
through forests of freedom,
or are you led by golden gleam
over paths of noble dream?

Of nightmare vision, of wonderous grace,
the moons are written in many a trace,
and the seasoned spirits dance
        among the trees
by many a flowing river.

Why do you come – this long way
to be with me at the dark of day?
Are wounds so deep, and eyes so empty,
mountains so steep, and waters so muddy,
is the burnt blood not ample
sacrifice?

Or were you left
by the attendant angel,
when you refused
a bone white cup of sky?

Whatever you fought and died for
then, is long departed,
you have no body, you have no name,
        you have no home.
You have only -- this
great round house of sky blue walls.

Your shadow glides on casual winds,
your words to no end,
your clothes of style not used by men.
Hero of forgotten battles
you stumble on the driftwood
of long drowned trees.

AWAKE – like a flight of white
winged birds across the sky blue
sky.
See the threads of your life
unravel on the wind.

Un-born red stone spirit, you,
learn to play
the high points of unsung hands,
the constant chorus of interested spirits
living among the hooded – living.

The raven brier by rock fence rows
guards gold well hidden deep
treasure that makes live men crazy.

In the high silent ether
a bone white cup of sky blue sky -
suspended in the high empty shining
above the snow that keeps on falling.

Where the white stone meets the black,
where the black stone meets the white,
        where the two stones meet --
the glow just – keeps on melting.

You are not of this world!
Your grandfathers come
from the hummingbird nation,
from under the earth behind blue mountains
Redstone, they come flying,
they come in swirls of black clouds,
they transform into feathers falling
and spook a breeze and scatter
among roots of cedars and oaks,
into the nests of new birds, they scatter
into the neat burrows of tiny critters,
into the ever flowing river
the feathers GO.
Go quickly, don't look back.


© Carlton Godbold 1987