I built a tiny altar
Of sticks, leaves, sage and prairie anisé
It was out East of the house
Not far from Crawford’s old homestead
Where the ghosts of broken dreams
Hung in the breezes
I did not know why I had wandered there
Ñor why I had arranged
The articles of earth
For her

She had come to me
As I was walking
Her presence descending
Warming the day’s chill
I saw her smile
Then I knew
The men who had taken her
Back through the door with the round window
Were not going to bring her back
They could not bring her back

Her smile was the softest thing
I had ever witnessed in the world
Her voice moved through my soul
The world stopped turning
The wind hushed
The prairie turned up her edges
to hold us alone together
“Oh my dear brother,
I’m still with you,
“You know....It’s beautiful here”