Of Bows & Arrows

whenever he could
the archer would ascend high
to shoot his falling feathers

and at dawn
descend to the delta to sleep

wrapping his bow
in soft words and smoke
he protected it from himself
when his nightmares
tossed him about his cot in his sleep

nothing he had was enough
to protect his most prized time
from himself

broken and cracked
the arrows go nowhere
and rest comfortably in his arms