the red road

sifting the hot river sand
beneath a stand of brittle oak
on the far banks of civilization
and what remains of homeland

wind lifts a tattered flap of hide
so deep and far in my mind
and i run pounding down that twisted trail
down that deep inland river
toward a sense of ancient knowings
murmurings from the deeps
bone-chimes strung from trees
to catch the dying breeze
and smoke from hickory fires
ghost-tongues licking juices into knotted sinew
to bind the mortal coil
and the mock-warrior whoops
from clouds of running brown stick-legs
and dogs with keen eyes on the drying racks
and women with keen eyes on the dogs
and sweat running through the dye on the muscled shoulder
of a painted stallion, rough-hewn from prairie-soil and wrested
from his hinterland of untamed unwild
just beyond the brook
past the cottonwoods
where the coyotes gather like hyenas
awaiting the dark-lit moon-lamp
for their tribal mourning

and there i found the cold dispassion of knowing death
and all things under the sun
to be brothers, sisters in blood
running fingers through the dreaming
without mercy
without favor
breathing frost into living flesh
until it shatters on the ground
again
and memory fades