Far Walker

Like a winter coat
heavy with the scent of naptha
pulled from the back of a dim hall closet
or a wool sweater drawn from an attic box
bearing the incense of a long past fall
so this visitor from the country of shadows
trailing wisps of dark fog
and the faint echo of other voices
our shepherd brother Ron
far walker, flock keeper,
returns from the edge of morning.
The faint outline of a distant city
reflected in his eyes.
The fragarence of a far country
clinging to his thin grey face.
In a soft cadence
he speaks of places beyond this narrow valley.
Where we saw pools of umber
he now sees a well of light.
Pulled from the country of shadows
by arms linked in prayer
fighting back the pale dogs of leukemia
from our weakened brother
they dare not step within this
bright circle
but so close was he to the edge of the city
like a kite at string's end
for one quick moment
riding the currents of a different wind
before returning to the country of night.
    -Rick Dalbey