you were a dark horse
sniffing breath of cold mesa air
always outside of your people
and the smell of burning sage

yours was the shrub oak
and the juniper
sweet smelling prayer
lifting your hands filled with
life-mud and singing
to greet the dawn

your tears were drops of the deer's blood
sacrifice to your memory
a lament for the mountain stream
that every winter went into icy death
and you moved into solitude

i dont cry over you
your spirit became a drumskin,
streched tight and lovingly over
the hopes of your people

we make your music