Boy by the Bogaciel
A Poem by Walker Abel
Included in Wayfarer Magazine Issue 42»
Great presences coalesce out of mist, out of forest time bends in on itself like dunking one’s head in a river and realizing no sense of length, dreams are visions of what might be and what is, is distillations of dreams: a boy holding an owl between his outstretched fingers the owl looking at me without concern born there in the fragrance of that suspension the poised being of a flower stem-held among ferns a pebble single as a first star shining from the river floor. The boy’s young friends toe their sneakers in the duff smiling that he always does this, not doubting the story that a snake came first to his side, then the owl to catch or join the snake, and he gathered up the bird as the turning earth does its seasons, as sky folds in its clouds and without strain makes each feel welcome. Fifty years now have passed or been plucked as melody from the lute. If ever you read this you boy now man, please send me a feather a verse, an uplifting shape in the swirls of dream that you still walk and sing by the river.