The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Visionquest (revised)

A drum beats in the wilderness, as
Bear strikes lightning upon tree;
Fires the leaf with sky-cinders;
and burns with the moon in his eyes.

Wind drives the ancient dance, as
Eagle ascends to the great mountain;
Turns the cloud rivers to dew;
and breathes in the sun on his breast.

Below lies the lone smoky spire,
the restless warrior's chant rising,
through the deep valley's cave echoes
and forest foothills' silence.

He sits on dusty muscles and hide,
burns sacred sage and
strikes the hot stones with
rhythmic spasms of carved limb.

In blinding swirls of heavy air,
blood rushes in the torment of
dancing up to mountain heights as
he walks the dreamed story.

Avatars join in the forgetting frenzy
painted on the hide heavens of the
vision cave, they dance in cloudy
mists and breath in the fire.

Feathers cry and fanged ones crouch
circling from east and west,
descending from north and south,
gathering for the fasted feast.

Father stars hidden in white sky
and tender moon whose arms he left,
Like the buffalo, they gave and went
when the boy snows melted.

And the fields grew green with
brave strength to prove and find
the path - to meet the waiting spirit
teacher and see his secrets.

With hurried pace he listens
and hunts with white noon eyes.
All is reflection.  Inside he knows
the rhythm of his heart stride.

Grasping feather, sinew and branch
his eye's obsidian flint shines sharp and
poised to pierce the buck or boar
that meets his gaze or thrust.

Rain could not quench his parched skin
nor mossy stump revive his proud strain.
The dance flows in his crouching calves
even as he reads the race before him.

Gray swollen is the cloud council
meeting on the mountain and the
old men whose bark and pine await
as ancient stones glint the way.

He scurries with soundless steps
up the ancestral trail and turns
to glance the cliff, but pail is
all his scorched mind can perceive.

He stops and smells musk
faint yet heavy,
he knows he is near.

In his loins stirs the excited
yearn to kill, to stalk, to master
and strike the fire in two.

Blood eyes fill his sight
the moment descends upon him
wrestles torn muscles down.

Claw and finger, tooth and blade,
Courage consumes power - raw and raging,
Forced and fighting to death's edge.

Forged in adrenalin's fire
Frenzy falls limp in a
last gush of life.

The ancient altar is born again
on the heart-watered earth,
hot and still quivering.

As dewy eye falls to a glaze,
he sees majesty pass
his spirit strength.

He stands before the forest edge
beneath the wise sky vista
among his fathers' stones and
the bones of day-years,

Cries to the rains and the
ghosts that dance in the silence as
Noon-day eagle calls and
lightning tree falls from the mountain.

And with proud, bruised step,
descends the foothill from the trail,
jumps the river and passes into
the vast forest shadow.

No songs will be sung this day
or ever told in winter's tall stories.
He was given the taken's secret
and walks now in quiet respect.

Eye to eye, his days, his freedom
lie opened on the altar of years,
to be taken; given to the fever
fire of a secret told.

A heart beats in the wilderness, a
lone spirit joining the ever tribe.
Dancing on the winds of the hunt,
proud and silent and free.
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©2008 Mark Daniel Milbocker  All rights reserved.