I am forgetting what I learned, with the people. It is to sit with them and dream, not of other things, but together. I am forgetting what I learned, at the fire side. There is no condition of life. My longing is my truest friend. It never leaves even when the ocean is thick with grief, even when the sea overspills with joy. I am forgetting.
I have now left your arms.
3 and a half years a lot of holding back.
Moving in circles as particles of loss.
I have been disturbed.
I’m sad you’re not hear to share a glass
To toast the ending of a missing
Your mirage has circled, punishing the guts.
Around you, I’m imagining a freedom begins.
Or within me, a feeling at the edges of the bones.
Down South, the Old Man dreams. In his cave, beginning songs. The desert cries under the bite of drills. A snake will rise and pound them to dust.
Down South, drums clear. Stars shine, sing with feet. Ancestral chimes before the World was alive: the joy is coming. It is seeping through the sky. The crow knows and flies.
The storytellers say: the sun is a force of change. Its light will cause all our stars to flame. We will breathe its mystery. In seasons, in thoughts, in the land and animals.
Not a leaf will fall and be unfelt, A word from the Creator go unheard, they say. Grief will fry in ancient songs and erupting, the Earth made new again.
Down South, the Old Man dreams.