Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
An Indian’s Life
I smell the smells of Indian life
That only an Indian’s nose can pick up.
Cinnamon, apples,
Sweetgrass,
And the smell of summers’ night.
I can almost smell the moon.
I am almost the stars.
I am always the rain
Falling as tears from the eyes of the skies.
The tears riddle my eyes until
They are permitted to fall,
Leaving small trails down my cheeks.
I brush the plumes of sage smoke
With an eagle feather and
Wait for the visitors to
Extinguish their anger,
For I have seen enough anger.
The door is opened and the wind
Blows the sage in and around
The arteries of this house.
The song of the eagle soars alongside
The tempered warnings of the raven
While the hawk views the land
And gives it strength for
The deer and elk to pass onto
Their children who pass it on
To our children
Who pass it on to the adults
Who will not listen.
July 8, 2004
Suge
That only an Indian’s nose can pick up.
Cinnamon, apples,
Sweetgrass,
And the smell of summers’ night.
I can almost smell the moon.
I am almost the stars.
I am always the rain
Falling as tears from the eyes of the skies.
The tears riddle my eyes until
They are permitted to fall,
Leaving small trails down my cheeks.
I brush the plumes of sage smoke
With an eagle feather and
Wait for the visitors to
Extinguish their anger,
For I have seen enough anger.
The door is opened and the wind
Blows the sage in and around
The arteries of this house.
The song of the eagle soars alongside
The tempered warnings of the raven
While the hawk views the land
And gives it strength for
The deer and elk to pass onto
Their children who pass it on
To our children
Who pass it on to the adults
Who will not listen.
July 8, 2004
Suge
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An Indian’s Life
An Indian’s Life
