Blue-Sky Cloudmen danced with wolves
to willow songs on forks between two rivers.
They gripped the flowing robes of God,
and ran to feel his pleasure. We stood
tall like “Mother Corn” in harvest
fields filled with pumpkins and beans:
ripened our faces with the juice
from wild plums. Vultures bleached
the skulls of our enemies and the children
bathed in sweet streams, but owls
with greasy beaks came to spit darkness
into our council fires. They perched
on the sight of holy men seeking the ‘good
medicine.’ Our flutes breathed fever.
The people choked on white clay dust
and drowned in sand on the banks
of big-bellied water. We gazed
into the Spirit World through eyes
from behind a mask of death.
A Trail of Tears
Sorrows wept mud into bone dust
wandering a forgotten trail
of orphaned souls. They grieved
into vapors wisping through clouds
at the top of God’s Mountain.
He cried into woodlands rapturing
beasts, then formed seven true clans
from seven wolf ribs, and suckled
them at the breast of seven mothers.
They painted their faces
in conquering colours, and lashed
each spirit to the talons of an eagle.