Little Dark Breeze
A darkness tramples over horizon
lassoed by a mystic moon.
Tumbleweeds tremble in the night
puffed about beneath a star-shot sky.
Faces pale upon pin-cushion prairie
to stampede this symbol of sanity.
To scratch open our sky with flaming fire-sticks
in a jangle of jealousy and judgement.
Dream catcher blows for Little Dark Breeze.
Fearless feathers flutter in flight
to snatch that nightmare straight
from thin air - arrow head true -
‘lest dagger days besiege
the outpost in his head.
Warring hands praying
for bombs, books and backbones.
Shedding the skin of damned nobility.
Dancing in the dust of tin destiny.
Begging with a copper penny pot
in a wooden nickel world where,
the Great Spirit’s president rides
the back side of our blessed buffalo.
A riotous rodeo of sorrow.
Ó
1998 Maryann Hazen