Living the Dream

Still life breathes my Canyon’s voice,
as shadows
bending note of wind
to blow her name
in she wolf, native sounds
of wilder verse,
heard in sigh,
her stretching hand
across these rocky crags,
of Passion’s fur,
painting fire
in licking ancient wounds,
seeping darkened memories
to eastern blush
of billowed promise
in Morning’s quill,
enchanting spirit
to find as night,
her desert place
reborn to flower.
I give my gratitude,
as silhouette

to stretch and grow,
in vision brushed with motion,
this lighted trail in watered black,
as drifting wing
of true inheritance
to share my Raven’s dream
of dance without an end
in Feather’s enlightenment,
with kindred form of New England’s echo,
where Nature finds her People’s prophesy
pointing peace
in paper trail,
a great white stone,
is sure to follow.
  —-kaibab

Tags: Kaibab, Poems //