Stigmata

Stigmata

That Morning
the people 

woke

to a mountain top

on fire.

A red gold dawn seemed

to forget 

the ancient 

bounded truce 

between Heaven

and Earth,

and, descending, christened 

the forested crown

with flame.

They wondered 

then

what had become 

of them,

the small 

band of brothers

who had passed 

through

barely a month ago,

begging their way

towards 

the foothills

lost in the mad 

heart song

of faith, of divine desire.

Seeking the solitude 

of spirit

that only the wild bestows 

as blessing.

They were three, 

and one 

they did not come 

to know, 

cowled as he was 

in smiling silence, 

yet with the look of loss 

about him, 

as though he did not 

live fully 

now upon this land.

Sometimes, later, 

if the wind blew right

they swore that 

in the starlit silence 

of the night 

they could hear them 

singing.

They felt sad then,

as you do

for those you do not really know.

To be lost on a mountain

in a forest fire.

How terrible.

They did not listen to 

the child

whose piping voice asked

insistently 

why 

there was no sound 

of burning,

no stampede of furred 

and feathered 

from this strange flame, 

but only light and silence

and a stillness 

until then unknown

except before 

a summer storm 

or sudden fall of 

winter snow?

The child 

was shushed, 

they always are,

and sad and solemn words 

were said, 

and then the business of the day 

began.

Eyes averted by all

except 

the child

who stood and stared long

and finally 

smiled.

as others' faces 

turned towards 

the ground 

of ordinary hours, 

fell into the 

forgetfulness of fire,

as we so often do.

And when, by chance, 

they looked again

they saw now only 

a September sky

over a forest turning 

autumnal gold,

and thought, well now

we must have been mistaken,

a rare dawn, 

no doubt.

Some days thence,

the brothers came again,

thinner for their 

mountain days

yet seeming wrapped 

in wonder and singing as they

walked.

Save for him, 

the silent one, 

bowed and bent around 

an inner burden

none could see 

but all could feel.

His hooded face 

unseen, 

they all kept their distance, 

fearing the mad 

contagion 

of faith, perhaps. 

All that is except 

the child 

who found him sitting alone 

beneath a tree 

and offered him

the raw innocence 

of her unflinching gaze,

he smiled 

at her then, 

as,

with the noble courage 

of her age 

she said,

They thought you burned in the fire you know?,

He lowered his hood

she saw his hands then,

their centres 

splashed with scarlet 

and with iron

from which a golden flame 

now sparked,

as though 

the light of Heaven,

earthed in him,

could not be contained

in him,

a vessel small

and broken 

in such 

fiery

blessing.

I did.

he said,

I did.

Then they laughed

a while 

together

and singing,

both

went forth

to 

play.