I Have Been Calling Them
For a long time I have been calling them without reply.
I smell them in the DNA hills of my boreal bed
I see them waiting on a black forest coat of male arms
I hear them arguing, tongues flying in Native winds
I rub their dark feathers dipped in a dry
As I write in the rocky darkness to talk with them.
For a long time I have been calling them without response.
And after I saw the twirling Precision helicopter crash
After I ran downhill into the smell of crushed metal and dreams
After I touched a cold firefighter’s blue-winged lips
with the erratic cry of my breath, then I called them again
while walking alone in logged woods and for once
the giant ravens croaked and lifted me
as we listened to our breath alight in tall evergreens.