Margins

Elders haunt the breathing woods
Along paths of lives less taken
Brown and orange skies foreboding
Plains of buffalo forsaken

Words of the Prophets reign fire on
Sacred ancient boneyards, broken
Outside margins, grain in ruin
Sacred, the Profits have spoken

Among the prickly pear and cactus
Anguished bones have yearned so long
Just because I don't fit in
Doesn't mean I don't belong

A breeze came to remind us of
The land where bone connects to bone
In the disappearing margins of
Ocatillo brush and stone

But skies have gotten darker now
The ancient wind just howls and moans
The weeping of the elders dims
The land where blood connects to bone

Among the prickly pear and cactus
Anguished bones have yearned so long
Just because I don't fit in
Doesn't mean I don't belong

My essence lays weary upon me
Heavy, as chain upon chain
The thresher comes for its harvest
Blessed freedom in hallowed rain

In the sacred cup of the child
The only safe refuge is death
Elder whispers among the sage
Grateful for every last breath

Among the prickly pear and cactus
Anguished bones have yearned so long
Just because I don't fit in
Doesn't mean I don't belong

 © John Kennan 9-27-20