2015 10 29
Now weeping mother sun watches me drive
desolate highway past ancient pyramids
where tourists elect ghosts of long dead kings
when cameras illuminate their lost faces.
I turn sideways at flash of green sun beam
and see through mirror door of broken eyes
infinite recession of long dead kings
who stand on pyramids with arms spread wide.
I am eagle king who soars on high wind
and shoots arrow of fire to spark rain storm
so father cloud weeps and soaks soil of meadows
where cocoa and corn blossom from our hopes.
Who drives busy highway from towers of glass
to watch dance of feathered ghosts in dark forest
where young girl with eyes full of flashing stars
tames snake of death while drums wake my heartbeat?
Breath of joy exhales from pan pipes when she plays,
luring me ten thousand miles to high slope
of jagged mountains frosted by ice sunrays
that weave eternal music through my mind.
Fire crackles in valley of Rainbow Mountains,
glowing on face of Onatah who laughs
and gives me bowl of hot popcorn to eat,
then tells me how Sun Spider weaves this world.