After you’ve dug among the bones,

considered the circles and mounds,

the trepanned skulls and corpses daubed with red,

go alone to a crossroad at dawn,

hear brown birds sing the sun awake.


Coyotes will watch you,

deer and little foxes run away.

You will smell ripe berries

in a clearing on the hill.

A sudden wind will stir the grass.


Where are the ancestors

who carried you, marked you

with figures and runes,

redeemed you

from the knife and blackened stone?


And what do your dreams explain:

the lion on the windowsill,

broken feet,  wings,

a wolf that no one else can see,

dust of bones congealed beneath your skin.

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