Medicine Man

He stands and looks at me
With the eyes of Vision,
Wearing a mantle of masculinity
At once both tacitly seductive
And dripping with primal warning
I have come seeking help
And though he usually only helps men, he says
He does not refuse me.

We wash ourselves in the smoke of Sage
His sacred tobacco breath caresses my skin
As he begins his prayers
He has me lie on the floor of the little room
In a kind of easy, oozy chumminess
He lies on the floor next to me
Our energies mingle, friendly
Talking, explaining, smelling each other out
He is choosing the ways he will help
With the things his vision tells him.

Crystals, coins, songs and surgery
A drum booms commands with absolute precision
He rewires my heart, sets it spinning
It sings words of love to him
I've never heard before.
I'm learning exactly, if only this one time, consciously
What it is to dance with Spirit Man.
His whole purpose is to help me, gently
Read the pages of my own eternal music.

Only one mystery remains, a few months later
Amidst a whirling kind of self-searching for something lost
A formless place within
What exactly was the color of his eyes?
Bottomless black Creator eyes
That stayed with me, unblinking
Those many hours
Unblinking, and haunt me still.