By avoiding the leftover scars, I often wrote with the hawks
a heart filled with the mountains, eagle’s wings
and Native Americans running strong.
But Thunder Speaking doesn’t
live here now.
Songs of My Love will always lift me
and the oceans call, with a few older people
looking beyond the horizon.
But to be honest I wonder how many more poems
and how many more battles I can still face
without the mountains in my heart
and eagle’s wings unfolding.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, Ancient Skies