He raised his bow,
un-thinking, un-blinking, un-winking,
firing his arrow, which,
(I only could have imagined)
had landed far after he’d started his speech—
his lecture—didactic centaur, he was—
and is, still, his voice, still ringing in ears—
much like mine, I suppose—of valiant knights,
preachers of medicine and archers in flight,
whenever, such that, their names would be claimed,
preceding their flaws, their moments of glory,
and not in their silent minds, but up,
and behind them from highth, and peak, and clime,
un-turned theretowards, but majestic and wondrous,
that furrowed brow, quizzical look, then peace—
determination:
⠀
“Anything else, unacceptable”, was
our favoured mantra—I haven’t checked with the others—
but they must have, considering,
arrived—landed—and reached, the same,
conclusion foregone, but in our words,
not foresighted.
⠀
“Anything else, unacceptable”, who
gives a shit about our aim—but he,
whom before him, an arrow hath landed,
that boy, in a gallery, that boy, in a study,
that boy, by a bookshelf whose wonder’s
unmatched, whose arrow, our arrow, hath
struck where it oughtta ‘wards land, which,
before time (either his, ours, or any’s) was cast,
unlike of Zeus and his many, was aimed,
unlike his thunder and fulmen, was shot,
unlike that silvery sharpshooter holding
a cross, bow or gun held in mortal hands
as ours—though with hope divine or infernal.
⠀
“Anything else, unacceptable”, what
ever hath care for divine guidance—providence,
FATAETERNALIS, for gods of the East,
or clothéd, the West, for aid by the Winds
or the hand on one’s shoulder or hopéd
upon that, still soaring in the air, above and with
muselarks, reverberating. For arrows as those
are else: for arrows as those are unaccepted by him,
for arrows as those fly by him, outside his window
with skylarks unseen, outside his window where
he sits unbothered by goings on, bothered though
by this book-arrow-script, by this—can he call it
language?—We hope not (though he might)—but
one of them, holding an arrow from somewhere—
one of them, finding translations untenable—
one of them hearing not the voice of our master
will find him,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and give back his arrow.