michaelafinch

He passed over the river

under the fading sun

lit afire in the high sky,

streams of colors arching

over the tall peaks western reach.

The cottonwoods and ash, willow

shore run into soft earth, safe

across, against a barren oak, slumbered

still and latent, slid down

into a soft dusk breeze of evening rush.

The waters rushing fast and full,

All debris and life carried

forth and flung downstream

like a runaway train gone over,

gone in but a flashing whisper.

The first cricket sounds carried,

as bird song softly fades

afar downstream and sang

into the moonlight quiet,

restful from the many day’s battle.

High, wide span flung far ahead, the eagle,

Rising higher, supplicated and soaring,

Glide, soft, hung, still and circle,

its arrow call reaching back to our Republic’s time

of free fallowed fields of amber gold.

The rising moon to the east,

Reddening of blood flown,

Courage and hell fury musket ball driven,

Into and over the low blue ridge flow

far into Valley, deep green, full and giving.

Crossed over and under shaded tress,

River near and tired, weary, heart aching,

a long journey, not complete,

but final yet, over two millennial long,

he sunk down into meadow, final, succumbed.