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Grandfather called for sage
the smudge was never far
cedar sage sweetgrass tobacco
he sent his prayers up
on the smoke
his grizzled mahogany hand
drew me closer
that little smile was there
the one that said
i know something you don't
and with his last breath
he whispered
"Off to the next adventure"
and I smiled, too
HIGHWAY SONG
the wheels hum their rhapsody
windshield wipers
a steady tic
accented by the soft snores
of my companions
the mesas sail through roiling clouds
massive junks on errant tradewinds
they navigate an ocean of sand
plotting a course to nowhere
watching the stars
The driver hunches over the wheel
caffeinated Quasimodo
captain of a sinking ship
driving all the way to
on the wrong side of the road
I see her shining eyes
glancing off the windshield
hear her dulcet voice
singing in the wind
the smell of her hair
I am almost home…
The plateau calls to me in a silent way, shaking crumbs of desert from an apron of creosote that flows to massive rock forms. They jealously guard the lake. This alkaline oasis fairly twitches with fish, and to think Carson and Fremont nearly expired only one dune from bounty. I revel in the shock they must have felt when two Paiutes sauntered into camp lugging prehistoric trout...How little the soldiers knew!
Carefully, I make my way up the slope to a mesa where Winnimucca's hunters followed the elk, watched the flick of a lizard's tongue, and sang the songs of the Elders.
Ancient stories told
between the shimmering stones
A good day to die
Originally published in Simply Haiku
Grandfather’s eyes
gather up the fire
burning more brightly
in the cold still night
than all those galaxies
trapped in the desert sky
he speaks of the Ancient Ones
who carved their empire
in the chest of cruel cliffs
towering over baking sands
built their cities in the holes
where the desert’s heart once lived
and flourished
Grandfather’s hands
gnarled knots
clutching a blanket to his neck
hands that once climbed
precious footholds in the walls
of red dirt canyons
to kivas undiscovered
secrets kept in silence
guarded by wolves
big cats
heat and starvation
yet he never faltered
searching for the Lightning Stone
a crystal of great power
somewhere in a deep cave
grail of the Ancient Ones
it’s ozone smell and blinding flash
called thunderbeings to send rain
to their parched lips
hope to their yearning souls
and now, near the end of his years
I bring him to this sacred place
one last time
Grandfather, did you ever find it?
Yes Inyan, it is with me now
you, grandson, are my Lightning Stone
there's a naked Maidu
living in the cane
he comes at sundown
with his woven waterproof basket
hunting grasshoppers
living on Indian time
this was his city mound
where he lived
fought
and loved a woman
who died of the cholera
he prepares the wedding hut
and waits
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