Sacred Tribal Breath





Sacred Tribal Breath


The oldest turtle in the tribe
tells sacred stories in dense,
exquisite language and behold,
our fragile understanding
is lost in a slow dalliance.

Primordial water, the foundation of earth.
The voice of archangels, a landfill of waning lights.
"Why hide?" Your voice, a perfect animal
that creeps among the stones to a trough,
bloody scales and tail.

An old Lady shouts, "Do not come back"
"You've wasted too much time on those visions.
If you continue like this you'll go blind."
And I grow feathers and take flight.

“Now, you will not suffer," a voice shouts.
"You will invent your own shadow
and your words will have a slight incandescence."
Then I dream I am a strange flower
that invents mud cities with its scent.
I dream I am a giant butterfly
nesting in the tribe, and the turtles
bow when I pass by.
        

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