Willow13



Is it necessary that we name ourselves?
And name again? Becoming kin
to star, and rainbow, and river?

Raven rises, and knows us not.
Claims us not. Laughing as
he flaps away.

We pull our dwelling close about our shoulders,
polish our window eyes to see,
and add a log, real or metaphorical, to the fire.

Child, my girl cousins named their dream steeds
Black Beauty, White Beauty. Mine? --
Paint Brush.

Did I mention I've never fit well, anywhere?
Desert, mountain, sky, rain. Always
just over the next ridge, the next valley.

Next dream.



jjl
14 March 2011