He spoke with a solemn resonant voice
saying in this time of the long dark
descend
down
down into darkness unseeing
unknowing
stay in the dark
unmoving
still
Unseeing unknowing
how are we to live
in the long dark
angels indifferent
pass by us
with their transparent wings
As if a monk
a Savonarola
a leaden voice accuses
we made the catastrophe
made earth a grave
now we must descend
down into the long dark
unseeing unknowing
and the children. . .
at that thought
he crumbled
fumbled in silence
then resumed
his voice softened
his eyes moving among us
as if measuring
asking what lives in your heart
your soul
Behind him – a woodpecker
black and white and vivid red
perched against an old oak
clinging with his two-hooked feet
his tail an angled board
pressing against black bark
his skull filled with tiny cross-bones
concentrating expanding
withstanding his own hammering
attack tack tack tack
able to withstand a thousand times
the force of gravity
The questioner asks for silence
raises a heavy bronze bowl
in his left hand his right hand
fingers press together as one
circling
circling the rim
sounding vibrations
expanding
then fading
the woodpecker holds still
still
listening
longer then our shifting
our talking
our leaving
I think I know
what held his being in thrall