Faucon Paces

I stand by the Golden Chair -
to begin ... then to pace and wander
about the snuggled guests around the fire,
the ink still damp on the parchment,
as a story oozes out from somewhere.

Read these words aloud -- as I speak.

faucon
........................................................................

EARTH BOW

He would have escaped notice,
had he stayed by the fire -- or had I,
but I chose to lie in the field and wait
for a passing drift of shimmer wake
and hear again the chimes of starfrost --
but I surely digress…

He stood boldly amongst the crowd,
slight form entranced by story and dance,
face hidden by dark cowl -- as were others.
Yet 'twas not so and but a ploy and ruse,
for the folds of cloth parted in the back
and keen eyes peered out and on.

While companions drew from fire warmth
full face with cheer and welcome song,
he scanned the horizon with secret gaze,
and then stayed behind to tend the coals --
as was his task as servant to the camel master,
or so I believed 'till now.

He was not as he seemed -- but neither am I,
and I sensed no evil in his quiet deception,
but ripple waves of joyful, silent laughter,
as one might know in children finding berries
'midst the dry thorns and desert bracken
of mischievous escape in play.

Throughout the day of dust and trudging toil
he collected dung from earlier caravans,
dried in the gifting sun in a most treeless land
that the story fires might burn brightly
and mask his searching of the shadow rocks
and crevasses of the night.

As he was everywhere and of common sight,
he was invisible by day as well by right,
and no one save I saw his plan unfold
with the collections of items one by one,
that made no sense taken all alone,
nor together by my memory.

A broken pole of planned tent support
was readily discarded to his quick eyed glee,
to be shaved and honed in midnight stealth,
betrayed only by shavings and sliver dust
caught in the teeth of jagged boulders
far from the morning preparations.

A broken cart was salvaged save a single plank,
gather up with scraps to add to the hungry fire,
but never seen by man or flame or master.
He must have carried it strapped to his back,
while his limping gait justified the longish staff
that no one questioned of.

I was waiting when he crept out at last,
leaving serai and friends and known peace
to seal his fate by design or special need;
and followed as a desert fox most grey
to observe the most wondrous event
of which I will soon relate.

He dug a shallow hole in the hardened ground,
and dance a bit to shape and form a bowl
across which he laid the stalwart board
to anchor with both feet spread wide and sure
and span the dimple in Mother Earth
to await the stroke of man.

The staff impaled deep the soil and stones
to bend in homage by tethered will and bond
of hemp and hair and silk threads of gold
to the center of the hole and arching board
yearning for an ancient note and song
entwined with Covenant.

This bow of Earth and tree and human soul
could produce a rich symphony of tone
as bending branch fought with string alone
to thunder through the sounding board
into the bowels of the bedded stone
to echo in my secret heart.

Never have I heard a sound as this before,
though each cell of pulsing life remembered
and cried for the Mother I had never known,
save that we all know the kiss of creation
and breath of the Father on our furrowed brow
and of the EverSong.

I did not know my soul could hear so clearly,
nor my heart change rhythm beyond reason
to a strum and pulsing mantra of foundation,
that drove me to my knees in comprehension
that the Earth knows me simply as a brother
and a dancer in the rain.

Others whisper -speak of a sudden desert storm
and thunder from a cloudless glimpse of heaven,
but I was there to see the Messengers come
and take the boy away on a silver steed --
called through witless time and encircled space
to take the Watcher home.