A Man Seen

A Poem on the Divine Masculine

I see a man
who leads the blind
home

who sings the dead
born of stone
and rivers flown.

A man who 
tunes and plays
of drums

in dark places
where magic
hums.

I see a man
who opens his
heart so green,

offers a hand,
transmutes pain
into serene

strength to uncover,
to recover
what's between

the above and below,
a man who
does know

the taste and smell
of rotten flesh,
of violent undress.

I see a man
of choice,
a man worthy

of praise,
of glory,
of save.

I see a man.