Elegy

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.