an unspoken word
for every hole
drilled in the core
of held beliefs

red-hot mantle
cools by degree
losing its fluidity
silver surface thin

molten river beneath
restless currents
roil and boil
mixing strata

we become
bitter metal
iron hardening
under pressure

What do I need
But a beautiful day
A tree that breathes, heavy and deep,
The water under its feet.
Sunflowers tilt their hats as I walk by
I hear a baby bird cry.
Its mother nudges it towards the ledge;
I watch it fall then fly.
It touches the sky.
Is this all real?
I am beginning to feel,
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.