When the Rain Begins
I say not to worry.
One year there was no harvest.
One night Earth ripped apart
like the gut of a sick deer.
One moment I saw myself
in the eye of the Moon
and I was afraid:
she is being licked away
by black mouth of Heaven
and next to her this life
is a small dry stick burning.
One year the Bear plunged among us mad
and tore many lives before the arrow stopped his pain.
I cried for us and for the Bear.
One day Ocean came across the land to our doorways
took some of us to feed his creatures
sent the rest into the mountains
leaving new Gods among us.
One moment I looked down the chasm of the past
into the red river of my birth
and readied myself
to leave my children and their children.
I grow old.
Sun has clawed my face
and Earth has bent my spine.
My eyes are clouded moons.
My ears are closed to song and terror.
Lay me in a plain canoe without ceremony.
When the Moon is hidden and the rain begins
give me to the River
to the whims of stones and currents
and a violence that is natural and becoming.
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