Botticelli’s St. Sebastian — Brigit Pegeen Kelly

I have seen a robin cock his head so,
Listening for the change in weather,
Feeling in the field’s pale grass turning paler
The moment of his own departure.
I have seen the bird throw his whole body
In the air, and go, the small bird go.
And the bared ground at once lose heart,
As if taken by a sudden grippe.

And I have seen blood wood, fire-grained
As the stripped flesh, seen the long
Boards of strong wood—when seen bound
And bitten by the drill—spew up phases
As curled and as extravagant as Sebastian’s gaze,
The way the lover does at consummation,
Lost to himself and the world, but still
Safley shaded by the tree he rose from.

I have seen, I have seen the lake’s heart
When the rain comes through, when the water’s
Dark flesh is driven, I have seen the heart
Move like a doe through the woods, move
Like a stunned doe, deeper and deeper,
Through trees that turn and close behind her,
The way water closes over a dropped stone,
Or a torn limb, or a lasting wound …

Oh, the forgotten traveler!