Breadcrumbs on a Trail

I walk alone from the dark night
leaving behind tormented dreams.
Why trouble over details
when the house is on fire?
The soul needs solitude and silence
like a creature food and water.
Shouting across barricades,
fists high in the air, do you wonder
whose world this might be?
So convinced of agency
that morning light
will not affect your equation?
Serious questions I know,
but I drop these behind me
like breadcrumbs on a trail.
Somewhere ahead in a sharp bend
where the river runs in rapids
I’ll pause for you beside the high rock.
Have faith in the maker of mountains
and just let go. The river is calling.




Crow Medicine

The black body of crow
sits heavy on a leafless branch
surveying the street with dark inquisitive eyes.
A low winter sun slowly burns off the fog,
lighting the gray city with hints of warmth.
The colors of autumn have dropped to the earth,
the palette of winter here for the season of rain.
When I was younger I’d walk forested canyons,
the air rich with evergreen smell and spray
from rushing creeks and rivers.
I hold them now in my mind,
letting them tell their stories in words,
returning their gifts to the people.
With crow I study the street,
calling up the ancient memory
I see in the bird’s dark eyes.
None of us are really apart
though the world will tell us so.
This is crow medicine
you hear them barking
from their murder in the trees.



photo by Dimitar Donovski