Wednesday, November 11, 2015

whistle whistle whistle wind
through me like Chinook
through hollow bone
humble as the bleached 
by time too long to count
when no spirit knows
where anything began
or where the wind
shall go and if it ever will 
come back this way again

whistle whistle whistle wind
the songs we have forgot
that we were born to play
before the dust and dirt
and all the hurt
clogged the instruments
of sacred flesh
so that they could
only make the cries we cry
from pity for ourselves 

whistle whistle whistle wind
and let love find
its way again
from the air that danced
with the music of
the warmth of sun
that only cools
when held too long
inside the shadow 
of my bones

whistle whistle whistle wind
let it flow like going home
to find an earthling star
in a song not like
a cry of want
but a melody of all
the elements 
of a universe constructed
by the interconnected
vibrations known as love
and come as the voice 
of what grandmothers sing
to celebrate 
and soothe our souls 
like reverie lifted
far beyond illusion
to hold you to
Creation's heart 

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