THE ILLUSTRATED MAN

A man stands 

like a Corinthian column.

Ancient and eternal.

He is naked

before a full length mirror,

a mirror haloed in light. 

He is breathing.

He is being his own breath.

His gaze is sharp and clear, 

an arrow aimed at infinity

as if it were a single point of light.

He is looking at himself, looking 

at his body, at himself studying it.

Every inch is inked

in tattoos, with images 

of men, faces of men 

lined, written over with questions,

with stories, well-worn stories.

Each face is a different portrait 

made by a different artist.

As the wounds of this man 

awaken, as if from a dream, 

to the healer within him,

his breath finds its deeper rhythm.

He vibrates, and he sees 

that each illustration is now 

transmuting into flower,

a lotus blossom blossoming.

No two sets of petals are the same.

Each has its own shape, size and color.

Each is a whirling, swirling wheel, 

a pulsing vortex of light.

An arrangement of exquisite intricacies,

emanations and incarnations

rooting and ascending

at once.

Every male face, every tattoo

gorgeously arrayed on this body,

is constellating on and in it.

This man is a living cosmos, 

an epic and elegant astronomy.

A star map made flesh.

This man stands not as a Viking 

admiring his own armor

but as a Guardian

of muted energies 

that he stewards into song. 

Into anthems.

He is a space maker. 

A peace maker. 

A love maker.

He has so much to say.

So much to give.

He is humming and buzzing with

potential, purpose and passion.

He knows it is time -

time to manifest, to deliver 

the cargo he carries.

He knows this like

he knows his own heart beat,

the sound of his own voice, 

the sound of water, wind and flame.

He sees – and maybe for the first time – 

in the mirror, his beauty, 

his masculinity looking back at him. 

It beholds him, with tears in its eyes.

Breathing still, 

his breath on fire, 

breath-taken,

he steps forward

and walks through the glass,

the door into his divinity

with gratitude and grace

as the newly formed wings on his back.

And the world 

gasps with joy.

It has been waiting for him. 

It has been missing him.

It sighs, because,

he has finally and fully 

arrived.