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
sitting among the tears
Of the missing….
Drying on the frosted leaves….
In the Andes above Medellin
The aorta spattered flapping against hope
Innocence the last gurgling sounds
Of a baby….
Fissures of unconsciousness
Drying as blood on a broken prayer….
The dead zone texts
The river sings….as always
As all rivers….
The ones who nurture it…
It remembers you
In its flowing canticles of joy
It carries the grief of all who suffer for it
You who have bathed in it
Anointed now by its one prayer for you….
It flows for the ones who have no voice….
Their silence eternal…
Healing the broken shadows of man….
For the water protectors of standing rock
25 November 16
I burn silver sundance sage….I burn red homeland cedar….
I send the ashes..
From a feathered tip
Toward the massacred
Who are everywhere…..
From the stronghold
A river has no name..the sound it knows of wind
It’s singing self..
It’s long memory
Bereft of longing..
Full of human invasion
Rests in its essential movements..
It is possible for a river
To sing inside a soul..
It is you..
For berta caceres
From the stronghold
5 March 2016
You found it in a rusted can of earth and worms
In a hollow birch tree along a foggy river…
In the wintered whisky breath of a Chippewa
Walking toward the oblivion of a white city….
In the eyes of a woman sitting in tall grass….
In the half blindness that allowed you to see further
It gave you words forged in motions not used by common man….
Made of a crows wing it gave you flight
Made of a Bears tooth it gave you a singing in an undiminished voice….
Made of rain it gave you love….
In the windy light snows ….among the rusty dawns of desert
And sorrowed plains….
For Jim Harrison
28 March 2016
Vanishing in the void
Shadowless in our breathing
eyes closed as we listen to the
Vacant as rainless sky
Blood on the pale stones
Under a canopy in a fiery rain….horseman
Of the drought from which they have arrived….
Humans on the run….
In the gathering vagueries
Of the many
Posted on the voting boards..
15 March 2016
Veho, tsistsistas for white man