Within the deep fog of the final days, ghosts will reappear with the smell of buckskin
and burning wood in the air, showing us how to make lodges, and the sacred art
of bow making, giving us the wisdom of medicine, and the harmony
of all things will flow in our veins once again,
so that the deep fog will no longer
need to hide us, anymore.
Note: This is part of the Apocalyptic Journal.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies