United

For Randy

 

Moon music moved them together

across nights of bat-darkness

earth drummed by naked feet

that beats Nevada mountains,

high hills of Mohawk country.

 

Though old Medicine Men,

prodded by priest and politician,

no longer wear robes;

nor boys, geld and tender,

gather holy corn

nor are celebrated on the warpath

and taken in love by strong warriors…

they remain in lodges and languages

where the vision is honored,

and grandfathers know Nations will gather.

 

Moon music moved them together;

breechclouts left at the door,

straight firs… ponderosa to cedar…

naked, crossed in the star-burst of dawn:

bent, spent, broken in deep valleys.

The first frenzied dance finished.

Wovoka shook hands with Cornplanter.

Earth parts for the seed of their firs.

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