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.