The Road Back

- jan-u-wine

 Broad as summer,

the light as I set out;

 

brand-hot and golden

the cloudless sky.

 

The Road

 

takes me,

feet threading the fine

cool

 

fabric of dust-coat,

 

the scent of trees

                          and little green grasses

 

rising,

 

the far-off voice of a stream,

twining its busy-slow way

about the grey gleam

 

of sleepy

rocks.....

 

 

The Road

 

and

the day

 

narrow,

 

until my feet

end

 

upon spears

of emerald grass,

 

Road-ribbon

vanished

 

beneath

earth-fragranced, wide blades.

 

Sun's-set laces grey fingers

upon the sky-path,

 

soft, ebbed blue

spilling to pink'd amaranth,

 

faded green

woven about spilt-gold.

 

An ice-slender moon,

its water'd lemon

 

smiling,

fragile-curved,

 

floats

upon the widening cloak

of night.

 

Fog-fingers of cold

 

wind

 

from the earth

below my feet.

 

Somehow,

this

 

touch,

 

cold and immediate,

shocking and familiar,

 

comforts me,

 

holds me to this place,

the rocks' time-worn faces

 

blurring

in the velvet smudge of dusk.

 

Not even the compass'd, ragged

wings

 

of the black night-birds

frighten me,

 

overlaid as they are

by the queries

 

of an owl,

grey-brown neck-ruff

 

proof against the cold,

yellow-orange eyes

 

intent as an arrow

upon his prey.

 

*************************

 

There is a certain

 

debt

I owe,

 

a debt of remembrance

 

to a

brace

 

of coneys.

 

It will not be of large consequence,

I think,

 

if Master Aiwë

should prove dismayed in his hunt.

 

******************************************

 

Upon the morrow,

 

I waken

in my small bed.

 

The sunlight is fair and clear,

the heavy thrum of bees

 

gardening

leaks through thin window-glass.

 

I smile.

 

Only a dreme,

 

odd

and

 

warm

and

 

strangely

welcome.

 

Only a dreme,

the edges of it

 

stitched with down-feather'd memory,

the boundaries of it

 

dun-fur swaddled

by the soothing

 

arms of time.