EVOLUTION
Your kind nakedness
huddles closely to me in a stick hut,
the steepleless church toasting a dinner
of strange rodents wrapped in green leaves.
An odor drifts like a thin snakeskin through a crack in the roof
telling us stories of our ancestors’ dreams.
Your open hearth has no name… no God.
It is an on-going project of ancestral fire stones, hair and bones.
We lay back on thick furs
and through the cracks we see the stars,
only we call them Gods.
We burn our labels again and again,
The past becomes fuzzy and magical.
We sleep lightly while we evolve.
***
August 2004
Also published in Great Poems of the Western World, 2005 |