This poem was to a drawing of Legolas, naked crouching by the fire. This is so much to the point.
Heating arrows in the fire
Flame firing skin, forging
iron arrowhead, shaft red hot
yet holds the heat, steadies
the arrow. The hand bare
to heat, holds the shaft,
which forges warriors as well.
Hand that will draw
Arrow from the quiver
nock it to the bow string
the hand that forged it
the hand that knows it
and knows to let it go.
What work requires night
and fire? A fabric of forest
dark, flame bright, that lights
the warrior and his work.
What expectation of tomorrow
makes dark work of night?
Intimate of fire, the ritual
constant forge and furrow
the sanctity of arrows to hand
that knows them and controls,
the seal of warrior's self:
one with fire, yet unconsumed.
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