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B Condon Mar 2017
Through silky grass and waters blue
Do the joints click into
Shapes of knowing wing or bone
Stretching, enchanted
And nerve and vein hums, pulses
An ancient tune between
Breathless heaves
The trembles of heartbeats
For a simple reflex of a finger to lips
His staff struck the stone
and his words echoed in the valley
Only then
when the night sky is lite up like day
and the moon turns a blood red
Only then
will you return
For seven years I flew as a Hawk
high in the clouds
stalking my prey
I roosted that summer's evening
as I have for the last seven years
only to see the moon turn a blood red
the night never came
I watched a comet steal across the sky
all stood silent
I fell through the branches to the earth
A boy now a man
never to walk that path again
I vowed
Lest the staff strikes the stone

— The End —