In the trees, through the leaves came crescent shadows
tiny silhouetted scooped moons upon the ground
without sound, black the round disappearing sun
in ways it came highlighting the shining of souls
and felt around the globe, shined like gold, like silver
like our shimmering days of lakes wet in rain forest waters
you and I on a path coming together, moving further and further
traveling through woods and smokes, traveling home
with a head full of smoke and eyes that cannot see me
my love I am truly in the fire.

Like water running, strange requiem
things I can't recall, though deep in soul feel
these skies, these burning lives
we are wild in the fields
only a sun, a storm, the rain
passing by.

Salt rim and cake
we ate and drank
drowned and sank
our souls and bodies
wet washed in this lake
too late to wonder
we wandered
another day
away.

In death, perhaps we are like water
making our way ever deeper from sand and sky.
Maybe we fly, linger and hover awhile
and the dream of becoming a bird is real.
Maybe we are stars, floating oceans of night skies
moving toward divine light in swooping waves
pushing upwards through embryonic waters
spilling over the soul
again and again.

From mud walled homes
these remnants come, artifacts of shell and bone
leather shoes and deerskin coats
woolen blankets and woven rugs,
baskets for storing grain and corn.

Grinding stones and sun bleached bones
antiquities and memories found in fields of sand,
necklace beads of finest hammered silver
now forgotten and lost, and too the river's water.

Came a sorrowful war with bullet guns
that pierced the heart of every man
no match for shooting arrows.

Living on the ocean as I do, I hunt fish and mollusks
my kin are otters and whales, wide eyed we dive
the night waves, soft in lullabies
in a sea dream, starlit and moon cradled
my lips are sparkling and salt flecked
my eyes wide awake from sleep
in a myriad of visions these sea colors
all my days, swum in a variance of blues
oceans deep and streaked in silver shoals
the day skies fade and die, into nights
plush and indigo blue.

I play guitar unpolished
red rust of my finger tips, bleeding
no school for this, still I wish
I'd somehow gone or sang with
my mouth unbound and loud
sang like a deep well of bells
that rang each day and I had come to listen.