2. November 2023 Submission

 In deference to Jack Pine Savage's 

30 October, 2023 post

'EcoPoetry'

This was written in September 1998.

 

 

I didn’t take my walk to see the sunset,

 but instead was held there 

to observe its flames and feathers of crimson and gold

with all that my imagination possessed. 

 

I saw an immense eagle with its wings

 held tight against its body,

its head held as though it was soaring upward, 

parallel crimson bars of flame cut its left wing,

and smaller birds seemed spread across the sky

 around it, soaring and diving.

I saw small fish dart from north to south, 

and behind it all,

 an eruption of splashes of molten flame

across evening’s lingering azure blue.

White X’s of vapor trails 

marked the sky as quick short strokes 

of a painter’s long-handled watercolor brush.

 

Two vertical clouds resembled the legs 

of a great animal running were, 

perhaps,

 those of the White Buffalo, 

of which Black Elk spoke.