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The Warrior

By Don Franklin

The darkness
and the sharpness of the sword
knew each other,
all vanquished air vibrating,
there was no more enemy,
all myth creatures flown or slid away
She dragged the moon from the sea,

Her sight, the ground, her sword
were all parallel.

There’s a story in her gaze,
spans hundreds of years:
she’s there as a man in his zodiac,
then as a woman in China,
then a child in Tibet or New Jersey
and speaks with the subtlety
of the sword hand.
(a song in the breath of the mountain)
telling tales to the fading future.

Is that what the Master really heard,
fragments of motion in the trees,
energy that sinks to the marrow?
Lessons under the sword,
parallel to heaven.

In the new battle
She is Master, neophyte,
man, woman, child, snake and bird
Sees the moon in a new phase
more than full
Sky so bright that new creatures
emerge from the sea.

In the new battle there are new forms
released through her
smooth exhalation.
species of beings and movement in the breath.

But the fuller moon leaves every hundred
years and
the darkness and the sound of the sword
know a secret,
One of them is deeper than the other.

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