(October 30,1961 / Farrell, Pennsylvania)


Oh, but a thought ago a baying hound
had led him to a clearing in the sky.
The stars tolled beyond the sombre clouds
and on the frozen pond the forest sighed.

He knelt, his arrows whetted by a tear,
the fire he’d set, rising into night.
Eternity approached, and in its sphere,
a sudden passing bird eclipsed the light.

He aimed and freed an arrow into dark.
Then maelstroms, downy plumes, snow tainted red,
the pity of the moon: he hit his mark.

The hellward bird now tumbling overhead—
past hunger, fear, dumbfoundedness and shame—
an angel, angel falling into flame.

by Leo Yankevich

Comments (1)

Leo you nailed this one.keep it up