Old man, white-haired warrior
you’ve sheltered me from both fire and ice,
the East Wind’s breath breaking on your stony shoulders
while a city huddled at your forested feet.
Now shadows rise within your shelter.
I’d swim upstream like a salmon, cling to you
like child to father. But at your side the river flows and fills
with whispers of war and hate.
If I pray for protection now
it’s human foes I fear. Dear friend,
you can’t guard me from my own kin.
Wy’East, it’s wings I need,
you are guardian, not guide
and I am fugitive, not foster-child.
Books Available
Dervish Lions
The Day of My First Driving Lesson
Country Well-Known as an Old Nightmare's Stable
High-Voltage Lines
Knocking from Inside
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