tribute to ian

1998

never have i followed you
close enough to see inside
but i have seen the minstrel
point his toe and turn dancing
i have watched his voice
carry eons to the cliff edge
and drop them down

caught by rushing air
i fall to rocks of flute breathing
i am wind in silver chains
of gaels and fire forged stories
played in melody-dashed rhythms
as though the low age of precipice
still lives in pipes and whistles
and minds that will not be
merciful with the music

why draw me broken
to the bottoms of cliffs
where you have captured
years of air and spray and breath
masterworks of old ages
before the eyes of a mongrel peasant
you amaze me, painting songs
of dark remembered pictures
untold myths around the crackling
fires at midnight

they burn me soul deep
and i am parented, fledged
endowed with credentials
of practiced archers and errants
conjured by the green man
ravished by jacks in the wood
and driven to a final leap
from nowhere to belonging
where were cast the eons down
now i can hear them call