Dakota Dream

Rivers Renewed

100_5547In the middle of the battle I often think of the Dakota.

A dream, in the mountains, horses

approach snorting, pawing the ground

feathers dangle, but their war paint is missing.

At the campfire I ask, “How

did you survive, when so many

have perished?”

A pipe is silently passed from one

to another, as I inhale, the answers dawn

without words, smoke

takes our prayers to heaven,

and peace again stills the heart

living

within us.

    

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2017, ancient skies

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