105. long memory

.

just under the prairie

grass are my people, dry and

quiet now, dreaming up

.

all the buffalo 

hoofprints of ancestors

long slaughtered.

.

just under the grasses are my

own handprints set in the stone

heart of earth, well buried.

.

this pale body … so different

now only the clouds might

recognize me. 

only the 

clouds might remember me

and they don’t sing out. 

.