new mexico mountain

In the July afternoons,
I listen
the song
of sandstone and juniper berries,
while meadowlarks converse
in wild, trilling loops.
Who am I?
The rattlesnake
warning of my teeth with a rhythm rattle?
The wasp
stinging when provoked?
What will I sing
to this soft hot summer,
already wandering away?

I thought I heard
sagebrush, hummingbird moth
and yarrow
telling the old night terror story of
hands over mouths,
bodies bound
to large dead branches
and set on fire

It spread
over oceans
And then there was no song
No birth
No medicine
No more

new mexico branches

No one alive remembers what happened then
but one thing is certain,
We give our power to what we believe will happen –
No matter how long ago it lived
No matter how choking it is

I never had sexual congress
with a demon
and I will not be quiet now
I will not be invisible

Words are dangerous
The names of things matter
all freedom is the choice to reach,
to grow, to move unfettered
to sing yourself back to life
hands unbound

When someone suggests
that you have nothing to fear,
it sounds hollow.
But when they tell you
you can transform that fear into a fresh power,
You begin to give your ear to it:
A quiet power born in soil
an opening that sings
of enough blackness to hold you.
I hear a dark chorus,
a net of starjewels
that holds the world together.

These stars are born
every time
you cooked for someone
dried a tear
fell in love
fought for earth
told someone they were not alone.
It is so easy now
every time
you say no
you say yes
you raise your voice in wonder,
this darkness teaches me
to pour out a clear floating song

when it is time to leave this summer,
when it is time to go home.

GRS 7/24/14

new mexico virgen

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