The elk are uneasy
It's time to cross the lake
You can see it in their faces
The way their noses
Are just so still
The lake is a river
Running
Polar bears are caught
Coughing, paddling for the shore
To no avail
The elk stand tall
Take one step
Then none

i brushed the tips
of her fingers
amidst the PVC pipe
as we sat
linked together
in lock-down.

our forearms stained blue
from the paint and tar
plastered to plastic,
holding down
the chicken-wire
purposefully designed
to make sawing us out
more difficult.

water protectors
chained together,
risking arrest,
the shackles a symbol
that we were willing
to trade our freedom
to save planet earth
from the 6th extinction.

sweat glued garments to skin
as the sun baked down from the heavens.
even if we failed today
to throw a wrench in the works,
still we rage against the machine,
still we sing our refrain endlessly:

*the people gonna rise like the water.
we're gonna face this crisis now.
i hear the voice of my great granddaughter
singing, "shut this pipeline down."
it's bigger than a paycheck.
it's bigger than a job.
if you won't respect our Mother,
we won't respect your laws.

The rain gives way to blossoms and blossoms
give way to snow that never drifts but scatters.

In this way now the weather intervenes;
the legacy of a child’s breath upon a popsicle.

With only one hand on the steering wheel
we still find it hard to let go our designs;

a glance in the mirror of a mirage, of carnage?
The territory swallows us all the same,

only the precision of the map is at stake:
how well the landscape bends to the road.

To be lost in this world and not afraid
is a skill we have yet to remember;

to master life in the ruin of life: life
dissembling in the rings of the ash tree.

What looks like rot is just the caterpillar
giving way to the nascent butterfly

but not like your smile gives way,
breaks, before the latest tyrant.