Mom
Here in this quietude….
There is your voice
Whispering from a remembered place…
Smiling from the distances that separate fear from joy….
Agony from aloneness….
Your cigarette smoke forming ancestral light….
That embraces calm
In a world lost….
To itself….
Foggia ghetto
February 23.19
Diffused light…these hours before morning….
without you
The silent room rings its loneliness ….
the sound
of a child’s toy bell….
Without you ….
Fingerprint on the balcony window
Pointing toward
first
snowfall….
Your footsteps waiting in the hallway…
For dawn to bring me here…
The calumet poems
For my grandparents
January 26.19
Dawn disguised as sorrow
Stands before the wintered plain
A wolf track fills with snow….
Crow lands….
Shaking its shimmering being
From the solitude of flight….
Winter
Winter
The badger watching….
Mahago domiutz ehiwoh
(Walking badger said this)
January 10,19
Bologna Italy
Waking to a yellow poisonous sky in Paris
A dark kitten purrs softly on my hotel window ledge….
I cross the early empty streets toward a taxi….
Heavy fog at gateway
Small rabbits running across the tarmac….
In the airport lounge in San Francisco hours later
Sipping an old crow and seven…..
Later in a rainstorm in a phone booth
I light a cigar….
Drifting toward a waking dream….
A white field of broken skulls in Yemen
The only darkness the holes….
Where their eyes were…
Lines from a revisited image
Bologna 1.11.19
Under storm clouds of mythic gifting…..
Beauty as life….
Rain….
The dust of human words on the outskirts
Of promise……
We move within the infinite…..
1.1.19
Foggia
What has arrived out of this silence
Secretly kept….silence of tears…
Silence of years….
The one who has slept to waken to the shining you
Left behind….
A shining so pure so alone….
Standing now by an ancient road
Made of blood and stone….
This glass dream that sounds of rain falling….
This dim recognition
Where emptiness folds itself into everything…
The sacred
Watching from a distance….
Edges
November 18,18
Eyo haugo…
Ema koeed….
Shards of burnt spirit light all around….
Pieces of grey fur caught on the stacked wood
Old ones have passed here….
‘It is raining hard’
‘It is a strong wind’
Emaome ehmin
Sweat lodge song
For peter and Lynn.
October 30, 18
My grandmother whispered to me in a dream….
Beware the white cities…the ones filled with hatred and fear
The ones where the ones who can see are
Imprisoned by the blind….
The ones who live from the dead meat of others…
Devouring their eyes that are staring at them….
The ones who have arrived from the putrid underbelly
Of human waste….
Formed from the shit of their ancestral darkness…
Carrying the heads of their dead gods
As tokens of their devotion…
Eating the white plate of their deities
Forced upon her as a child..
She looked at me whispering
beware….
The white cities.
Tricase italy
For minimic,tsistsistas
Rena cook,cheyenne
August 7.18
Why have I awakened here
With the watches of the dead scattered like eyes
On the floor….
Somethings that are left of me
Have found their way here
Where I am kneeling….
Praying for you….
Along this rain soaked columbian road
Where singing arrives out of the darkened trees
Small wrens
sitting among the tears
Of the missing….
Drying on the frosted leaves….
In the Andes above Medellin
8/3/18
