There is a tree covered in ribbons
Growing by the riverside.
Small buds wake to springtime
Early in the blue brightness.
Many strips of cloth wind round
The Greiving Tree.
I added my own yesterday
During a rest on the long road.
It was a comfort to see many
Memento-leaves gathered close.
Yesterday's sun rose glimmering
On fresh snow and footprints.
Foxes howled in the forest
And hares danced for longer days.
Today the mountains beckon
Speaking of silence and solitude.
True leaves have not yet grown
On the prayer-handed trees.
Ribbons colour the melting winter
Red and purple, blue and green.

The river runs deep.
Eyelets open as ice melts;
Blue irises edge clear water.
Her patience is thin -
Signs warn of narrow trails.
Upstream, the dam employs her
Six million kilowatt strength.
A steamship boiler
(Riveted, overbuilt steel)
Lies wrecked, a trophy
On display in snow-glitter.
Mankind must tread lightly.

Less than thirty years ago,
The last residential school closed.
I sit in the shelter cafeteria
And snack on a gift of bannock bread
While studying malnutrition, sutures, and
Average healing time for wounds.

Unyielding, raging pride and spite,
A death-grip on dignity,
The indomitable will
To get off his knees and
Punch anyone who touched him
Because it hurt to move.
I get it. I've felt that grief.
So I looked him in the eye and said;
You want to fight?
Fight the floor. Fight gravity.
Get up. I know you can
Because everyone cries,
Everyone ****** themselves,
Swears and sweats and
Lashes out in panic.
That's okay. I've seen worse.
Grab my hand, don't let go.
You're going to fight gravity
And you're going to win.

Evil is a man in a suit who has no face.
He wears mine, he wears yours -
He keeps them in a book
To select ego-mask disguises.
He is the man who runs the trains.
He is the man who strikes the deal.
Who stares back from the mirror?
External devils are poor scapegoats,
Useful fearmongers for the preacher-kings.
Look within. Delete your disguise.
Evil is a man in a suit who wears your face -
Do not let him control your hands.

This is such a small life,
Battling no demons but our own.
And yet, I see an adventure here -
An adventure, dear,
And I think you might be worth the risk.