In the smoke of many fires
we rise. Our signals are
are read across the far reaches.
Morning by morning, taken up,
taken in, braiding skyward with the
wild dream spilled out into
star fall flaring silent four
billion years, resting here,
generating, incubating, cultivating,
nurturing, caring, loving its own
by its own nature. Its consciousness,
we, waking, returning the dream,
becoming it, rising,
morning by morning, in the
smoke of many fires.