The Battlefield

The Battlefield

It’s on the battlefield that crows gather and are heard most often.

Like the great booming of cannons

and the repeated staccato of the automatic rifle,

the singular Crow sounds its familiar incessant cawing

Over and over and over again.

Nothing stops it.

No amount of focused attention or controlled breath,

not even the familiar mantra with its sweet rhythm

silences Crow’s voice

until Kingfisher swoops in.

Dressed in a robe of royal blue,

his sword of peace tucked beneath his belt,

he plants his finger firmly on Crow’s forehead -

right between the eyes, and

leaves his signature mark, sanctifying

and baptizing Crow with holy water.

For a moment now, as Kingfisher tarries,

all is still and silent.

Our last assignment of this weekend retreat was to write an ekphrastic poem, a poem based on a piece of art. This work, Kingfisher and Crow, is a collage/painting done by an artist friend of Richard's, Robert Jensen. Richard gave us a few poems to read and to meditate on, then I came home and "slept on it".