"Bronwyn"

Feathered clouds

Claim the mountain side

And fall to the valley below

Those who see him

Know he walked

In the dust of God's garment

For a time

He'd left the

fire on the mountain

No blade of grass

Glistening with dew

Is pressed down

At his footfall

Creation rises to adore his presence

As he levitates

To the ancient forest

Among the trees

Sounds of sighs, rustling leaves

As they bow to him

He knows each one by name

And smiles

For nothing can rival

The memory of trees

Communion restores the Ancients

And they bid him farewell

With a symphony of breeze

The soaring mountain

Swings wide the door

For the return

Of this earth-bound deity

Warriors bend a knee in reverence

But he whispers

And they rise to greet their brother

Once more they don their armor

Ready to begin a journey

With a fray of men and horses

Following wherever he leads

The narrow stone path is lined

With loving faces

Then his breath is caught away

As the wind sheaths his face

With the scarf from her hand

Bronwyn's one love

Feels not fear

Only certitude that he will hold her

When he returns

The steady pace of his steed

Carries him away

Into lands sloping

From the cobbled streets

And tear-stained love

Bronwyn inhales and clutches the scarf

To his heart

May, 2009