Now you come up for air.
The wind
Blows hard outside,
Bangs the storm door when
You try to keep it open.
But you smell spring,
Stubborn, damnit, and
You should know better than
To doubt it.
Now, at least
In season’s stall,
There’s time for learning
When to plant, and what
Soil in this rich land
Will nurture
Ponca sacred corn,
Here, amid Haudenosaunee.
As in all things, just only
Tethers we can’t see
Stitch this life
Together, and the rest goes
To stars, sand and dust and
Nighttime glows to
Morning.