Above his head he lifted a boulder
Not grey, but made of smooth
Amber and copper stripes
Have you seen him? They’d say
What a beautiful stone. They’d say
Coming together in a massive lump
With two divots on the bottom in the shape
Of wing spread hands.
Look at how strong he is. They’d say
It’s a gift. They’d say
The boulder belonged to him,
From a man in a long honey coat topped
With a snowball beard who was just
Fulfilling a prophecy.
I saw the prophet. They’d say
It’s his destiny. They’d say
So the boulder belonged above his head
And stayed there as a gift and a beacon.
That was six summers ago.
Six: Baby birds leaning out of their nests
Broken silk cocoons lying in roots
Winding sets of icy rabbit tracks
Sunflowers standing at attention
Two feet dragging
one body, dragging
At a sunset season he heard twinkling
Birdsong come out of a window
From a young girl’s hands.
Two feet stopped
Making train tracks
And with two lit eyes and ears
He dropped his destiny.
His wing spread hands ached
For a stretch, but they stayed as stone.
A flick of a finger shot fire up the
Wrists to release a sparking roar.
His hands cut from stone
Stilled in front of his face, tired.
He picked up his boulder and lifted it
Above his head.