The Blind Pilgrim

Beside a glittering precipice
Dust diamonds sun refracting
White granite reflecting
Heat, aridity, the encrusted hazelraw
Wrist-deep in the blind man’s grasp.

He feels the sun on his face
Reflected off the rock, singing from the rock
Behind him, cool, and beckoning
Is the void. Illusion of waterfall from 
A hidden mist of light

Way trodden by ten thousand thousand
White coated, engowned in sparkling
Robes. Jays and squirrels observe unseen
Oblivious of the parameters of 
Cliff and tangled tree.

Blind, he works his way across the blind
Cliff face, force of gravity carrying him up
He knows the deathly scent of the pearly
White flowers at his feet, his heart
Transparent before God.

Vague murmurs of prayer, rehearsed
And unrehearsed, come to his lips
ar-Nathair for walking, God with me rising up, 
Dia liom ag eirigh, the wind grows loud,
The sun intensifies

Trees thin and dwindle, water falls silent
Far off, far away, long fallen echoes
Of trudging footsteps. The strong pass by, 
Some sad and disgruntled descend
Confused by the smooth rock

Erased by time, ground out in mercies
Of glacial age, recorded in unknowable
Striations laid down by the last pebble
Under the glacier, gouging forever its
Inscrutable tracing.

He does not see the way, only feeling
Underfoot star-shaped scars of blasting
Left by horse-bound soldiers waging modern
War upon an ancient mountain way, 
Sky map of stone scars now polished by black 
Powder, leather sole, rubber tennis shoe tread.

Thirsty he shuffles along, bewildered bobcats
Avoid him, ravens cruise the modern road
Below for squirrel tragedies, sun grows stronger, 
Wind grows louder, the way winds up, 
Entering the groves of singing perfumed trees.

Author: Duncan MacNae

Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees. duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com View all posts by Duncan MacNae