Above his head he lifted a boulder
Not grey, but made of smooth
Amber and copper stripes

Have you seen him?      They’d say
What a beautiful stone.      They’d say

Coming together in a massive lump
With two divots on the bottom in the shape
Of wing spread hands.

Look at how strong he is.      They’d say
It’s a gift.      They’d say

The boulder belonged to him,
From a man in a long honey coat topped
With a snowball beard who was just
Fulfilling a prophecy.

I saw the prophet.      They’d say
It’s his destiny.      They’d say

So the boulder belonged above his head
And stayed there as a gift and a beacon.

That was six summers ago.
Six: Baby birds leaning out of their nests
Broken silk cocoons lying in roots
Winding sets of icy rabbit tracks
Sunflowers standing at attention

Two feet dragging
one body, dragging
two hands.

At a sunset season he heard twinkling
Birdsong come out of a window
From a young girl’s hands.
Two feet         stopped
Making train tracks

And with two lit eyes and ears
He dropped his destiny.

His wing spread hands ached
For a stretch, but they stayed as stone.
A flick of a finger shot fire up the
Wrists to release a sparking roar.
His hands cut from stone
Stilled in front of his face, tired.
He picked up his boulder and lifted it
Above his head.