Manataka American Indian Council
Each is a morning of miracles
when my faithful eyes unlock to the light of day,
familiar delectable stranger,
come to whisk me away,
a fresh face among thousands,
taking shape from a somnolent fog
as my ears are caressed by the
snuffling snore of dogs.
My breath is the breath of Lazarus,
in a renaissance of lucidity,
cutting dreams like a knife.
Both wonderment and confusion
fill my essence and lungs,
in equal audacious proportions,
as they speak in tongues.
I meet myself in the waking,
the lost and the found,
and exchange the usual pleasantries,
without making a sound.
Then I rise to go out through the egress
where the stone has been rolled away,
and wink at my pseudo sangfroid,
that I wear to traverse the day.
Copyright © 7-10-2014
During the darkest shadow time,
while staggering through my daze,
a hidden door appeared that beckoned me to choose,
and stumbling across the yawning threshold there,
I ventured on, with nothing left to lose.
There then emerged a bright ephemeral realm,
shrouding me with peace I’d never known,
emancipation far beyond a name,
absolving obligation to atone,
and transitory though I knew it was,
those moments lay fixed as corundum stones,
and left their mark forever on my soul,
scrimshaw on my frail immortal bones.
Then, a multitude of angels did appear,
lest I trust the lie I was alone,
and all at once, I knew what rapture was,
no trace of cruel calamity or fear,
and every dog I’ve ever loved was there,
faces lifted heavenward, like mine,
searching for God with sure, untroubled eyes
sniffing the evanescent, sacred air.
Copyright © 7-19-2014
There you lay in the new day’s light,
your life lost sometime in the night,
still and unbroken like morning dew.
Oh, you might have been sleeping.
Who even knew you lived,
beyond the one who killed you?
Who ever cared for you but your mother
and our God?
Who mourned your passing but me?
Maybe angels in attendance,
or maybe the wee lizard watching
as I buried you in the soft earth,
unless, quite unlike me,
she had the eyes to see
you rising up like Jesus did
to meet eternity.
Copyright © 7-12-13
If I only knew how,
I would bottle my dogs like a fragrance,
their essences harnessed.
Even after they strayed to the fog
where they vanish forever,
I could open that vessel,
as I grieved,
inhale them like oxygen,
pour them over myself
like baptismal waters,
healed of delusion and vanity,
saved from human nature,
born again with an adequate heart,
and I might be retrieved.
Copyright © 8-8-13
I buried a snake in the woods today.
Someone had fractured its back.
It looked otherwise unhurt,
a mosaic of ineffable beauty
lying broken in the dirt.
I prayed for the delicate serpent
and for each one that roams and survives.
I prayed for those whose irrational fears
make them lay waste to innocent lives.
Humble snakes move in silence around us,
vilified, feared, and despised,
and what we perceive as temptations
are but passion and beauty disguised.
We’ve forgotten more than we remember,
yet are sure we have something to teach.
Words never come as we bid them;
we make do with what passes for speech.
Our own hissing ophidian shadows
concoct mythical beasts to combat.
Dazzling snakes at our feet horrify us,
and we are the poorer for that.
EMAIL | HOME | INDEX | TRADING POST