Spiritpaws
11-16-2005, 03:57 PM
At dawn the dogs stir,
thump their tails, wait for me
to kick free of dreams and
ancestors,
open the door to porch darkness
and pre-winter frost;
I do not turn on the light,
in blindness I hear
the voice of a beaver-fat trapper,
bent close to the woman in elk;
her hair is my hair,
his name is my name,
and all I can do
when she reaches for my thoughts
is fold myself into feathers
that fall without effort
from the sky.
----spiritpaws
thump their tails, wait for me
to kick free of dreams and
ancestors,
open the door to porch darkness
and pre-winter frost;
I do not turn on the light,
in blindness I hear
the voice of a beaver-fat trapper,
bent close to the woman in elk;
her hair is my hair,
his name is my name,
and all I can do
when she reaches for my thoughts
is fold myself into feathers
that fall without effort
from the sky.
----spiritpaws