Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Coyote poem

From this warm edge
of sandstone ledge
on a high butte
near estipah-skikikini-kots
my attuned yellow eyes
can discern faint lines
near outward edges of
shimmered vision
radiating from this place
like spokes of
a giant medicine wheel
almost unseen
in buffalo grass
down on the flat
reaching out to
clasp lattices with
similar lines shining
from other sacred places
at glimmering points
on the far horizon.

Whiffs of old power
more ancient than I
still hang here
in still dusty air
scented with sage
left by elder ones
who came before me.

I could
if I squinted just right
nearly see their memories
if I closed my eyes and inhaled
nearly scent them
but even as rash a coyote
as legend requires me to be
has no trickster driven desire
to stalk them down those
humming ley lines
to discover any more
than these faint traces
for primal fear of what
old secrets and places
I might stumble into
and be forced to keep
ever after.

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