small songs I sing
to join
my voice to other voices
hidden in the grass

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Along Aquohee Creek

In the syllabary
Sequoyah made
for his peoples’ tongue,
the marks that stand
for rivercane
look like letters spelling
Tao, the Way—
the way this relict patch
of rivercane still stands
shoulder to shoulder,
rooting the riverbank to home. 
The way the people
wove it into their homes,
their baskets, and their lives.
The way the cane,
when hollowed,
sent flying home the darts
fletched with thistledown,
and all the fluted
notes that echo
home to the hearts
still hidden here
among the sycamore’s
white bones.
The way the turkey hen
bustles in canebrake
and the meadow
runs with quail. 
The way the water
rings the heron’s leg
with gold and flows
like tears.

 Written River 2:2,  Winter 2011

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