Post by Ron Wallace (Scotshawk) on Apr 27, 2009 18:34:31 GMT -5
Lawton, Oklahoma (February 17th 1909) Revision 1
I
Life hangs on
like tattered leaves
refuse to release a winter branch;
the last rays of the setting sun
ricochet gold
before the black swallows the sky
throws back its head
and howls.
When moons fall and trees topple,
what is lost?
A century of rings and roots, hard bark
and dying branches?
Time?
What falls
when antique fingers draw back a bowstring
from the white man’s Cadillac seat?
The “last kill”?
A dying bull buffalo,
stumbling into the wrong century
three red arrows jutting from its ribs?
A people?
II
February stars find an old man staggering
in plowed earth
a drunken Apache
trying to throw his cavalry jacket
over the moon, to slip up on the wind.
His ankle twists like the lid
off a bottle of White Port wine.
What falls then?
An unhorsed warrior, no longer a threat?
A grandfather, skin brown as his fallen bison
breathing in snorts of dust
eyes blinking
to drink in the last blue sky?
History?
Lawton, Oklahoma (February 17th 1909)
Life hangs on
like winter leaves
refusing to release a tattered branch;
the last rays of the setting sun
ricochet gold
before black swallows the sky
throws back its head
and howls.
When moons fall and trees topple,
what is lost?
A century of rings and roots, hard bark
and dying branches?
Time?
What falls
when antique fingers draw back a bowstring
from the white man’s Cadillac seat?
The “last kill”?
An aging bull buffalo,
three red arrows jutting from its ribs?
A people?
February stars find an old man staggering
in plowed earth
a drunken Apache
trying to throw his cavalry jacket
over the moon, to slip up on the wind.
His ankle twists like the lid
off a bottle of White Port wine.
What falls then?
A grandfather, skin brown as the dying bison
breathing in snorts of dust
eyes blinking
drinking in the last blue sky?
History?
I
Life hangs on
like tattered leaves
refuse to release a winter branch;
the last rays of the setting sun
ricochet gold
before the black swallows the sky
throws back its head
and howls.
When moons fall and trees topple,
what is lost?
A century of rings and roots, hard bark
and dying branches?
Time?
What falls
when antique fingers draw back a bowstring
from the white man’s Cadillac seat?
The “last kill”?
A dying bull buffalo,
stumbling into the wrong century
three red arrows jutting from its ribs?
A people?
II
February stars find an old man staggering
in plowed earth
a drunken Apache
trying to throw his cavalry jacket
over the moon, to slip up on the wind.
His ankle twists like the lid
off a bottle of White Port wine.
What falls then?
An unhorsed warrior, no longer a threat?
A grandfather, skin brown as his fallen bison
breathing in snorts of dust
eyes blinking
to drink in the last blue sky?
History?
Lawton, Oklahoma (February 17th 1909)
Life hangs on
like winter leaves
refusing to release a tattered branch;
the last rays of the setting sun
ricochet gold
before black swallows the sky
throws back its head
and howls.
When moons fall and trees topple,
what is lost?
A century of rings and roots, hard bark
and dying branches?
Time?
What falls
when antique fingers draw back a bowstring
from the white man’s Cadillac seat?
The “last kill”?
An aging bull buffalo,
three red arrows jutting from its ribs?
A people?
February stars find an old man staggering
in plowed earth
a drunken Apache
trying to throw his cavalry jacket
over the moon, to slip up on the wind.
His ankle twists like the lid
off a bottle of White Port wine.
What falls then?
A grandfather, skin brown as the dying bison
breathing in snorts of dust
eyes blinking
drinking in the last blue sky?
History?
