This grand canyon of life
doused upon our sense of who
we are
or who we’ve been
or becoming, like drumming nude in the woods with my people
the aborigines
this society, a destructive combustive scar
maybe there’s a good story behind it
or could it be that it’s time to roam
the fields
with the horses and rattlesnakes
to shine divine
just once, maybe
and you open your eyes
to a tapping at your door
it’s time
what will your final words,
be?
