By Pavel Chichikov
‘Are you the voice of God, great One
‘Who calls the horses of the night?'
‘I am an angel of the suns
A groom of His creation, tasked
‘To pull the tangles from their manes
And catch the sparks before they burn
Black craters in the parapets
Of time and space, and singe the plains
‘Now climb, I say, climb up and catch
The stirrups with your leather toes
And leave the gelding here to me
So I can keep a careful watch'
I leaped and gripped, was not consumed
Or blinded by the sun's long hair
Which leaped about my head in solar wind –
I lived and saw – a veritable grace –
How radiant around me and below
Me shone the crystals of the ice
The pure and weightless clouds like snow
Immaculate and young as paradise
As soon as I had settled in my seat
And lived, I say, as though it were a grace
And not a temporal and worldly consequence –
It burned no more than golden August wheat –
We started off, an impulse powerful
Yet smooth, unwandering, and firm
To keep a steady orbit, yet was free –
A river far below was like a worm
‘Where are we going, Brother?' so I spoke
To this uncanny sun, and it replied
As if there were a knowledgeable mind
That lived and knew its whereabouts, inside
‘Why, to darkness, where else should a sun
Be destined for, hold on, His will be done'
And then I saw the borderland of night
Come swiftly to the edges of my sight
The Shoulder of the Sun Part Four will be featured tomorrow.
To visit Pavel Chichikov's website click *here*
(photo: Pavel Chichikov)
