Image by kenne
Indian Paintbrush
by
Bob MacKenzie
Like flames, I think,
as I reach toward them,
reach toward Eternity,
where they hang
on the edge:
flames hung
out there between
the open heaven
above the open
earth below.
All around,
the Gods of the Rockies
watch
as I hang there,
one hand grasping
some scrawny pine,
its root straining
the loose soil lifting,
my other hand, left,
somewhere in Eternity
grasping a handful
of fire.
Up toward your smile
I climb
with my blazing trophy,
place it carefully
at your feet
as you lean back
against the mountain
like some goddess
of the earth.
Somewhere above,
there is an eagle:
somewhere in my side,
a pain;
and I am chained
to this rock
for life.
