I remember the shadow
of that tree’s ancient grief
knobbed where it grew
into the breaks,
how it held us
from the heat,
the solid weight
of that shade.
Acacia
Shielding
Shielding
I remember the shadow
of that tree’s ancient grief
knobbed where it grew
into the breaks,
how it held us
from the heat,
the solid weight
of that shade.
As a shield.
Long studies in endurance make it possible to hold a placid gaze, to make these eyes a mirror, returning only light. Vanity is so often the lead horse, its reliable prance quick to assert the next happy ending: Victory, victory! I watch the riders pass, their contented flag billowing bright.
Behind these mirrored shields, the smoke of a homeland rises over blackened hills, the devastation nearly total. Except for this singing silence, the trace of oiled fingers around the surviving glass bowl. How did they miss this? Protect it. The mirrors are here so that the pillagers may not see what is left for the taking, highlighted against the scorched earth. Hold and wait until they are out of sight.