Native American Child with Dog

Fifteen thousand years ago

a people rose in China’s dawn,

leaving the land of their fathers and mothers

just south of the Yangtze,

to cross the northern straits,

migrating with dogs near-once wolves,

and bearing seed of rice,

both sacred bestowments of a

great spirit. They settled in places to be

known as Wisconsin,

Colorado, Arizona, Mexico, bound fast

to the primal domain on the

inward plain

they lived hard

as creatures should

quickened by an ancient verve we do not

pulsate with today.

I want to know their God,

those who walked the arc of

time and space of earth,

stars and moon, sun and seasons,

ages and eons.

What was spoken into their

visions induced by the yodel of a loon, a

beam of light in morning water?

Since fire, the wheel, iron, papyrus we

have shackled our spirits to machines and art, and

scribed the account of staking down our Gulliver-god

into our irreproachable book of gleanings. We have

captured lightning on a kite-wire only to

blot out the Milky Way. We have

hurled our flaccid bodies across

the face of the planet at speeds that

cock the head, unsure of where we

have been. The land blurs by, pillaged of

legends of the early people of earth,

those with dogs once wolves and seed of rice,

bound fast to the primal domain.

O’ to dwell, not merely live, in utter step

with the arc of time and space of earth.

One thought on “Dwell

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