You can lead a horse to water
But you cannot make him drink.
You can push him in the pool
Or put his head into the sink,
But if the horse's an ornery *******
And he will not reason nor think,
You can lead a horse to water
But you cannot make him drink.

Another day ended
with mountain dust and ice melt in my boots,
dirt on my hands, blood on my knuckles,
fresh air and sage smoke in my lungs.  

Sage smoked and threw tobacco on
the sacred fire today.
I miss you guys -
sending good thoughts your way.
Life's great up north,
growing stronger every day,
wishing you all the strength you need.

Time is a story we tell
To order the absurd.
I see nonsensical injury:
The handprint on her cheekbone,
Bruises yellowing like dandelions.

Why? There is no reason.
All love mingles with grief.
Maelstorm cycles repeat into madness.
What can we do about it?
I do not know.

I look to the river.
Willows grow soft in spring,
And the ice melts again
Under ineffable blue sky.
Such it is;
Such it will be.

One day the river will flood.
One day dandelions will break the sidewalk,
But not today.
Today, we hope.
Today, we mend the bruise.

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.