Seven;
savvy tongues
lined up in a whisper, while
I, wanderer,
pry a dreamcatcher
apart with my teeth.

Body between
body, there is earth
airwind
and fire.
somewhere across the plains
A chieftain screams.

Eyes painted in
fermented glaze
I leave my clay brows
to dry in
the warmth and
light of a fire.

Stretched pigskin over wood
rap
rap
rap, conducts
a flame in an honest quarrel
between heat and ink.

A lip lined in the sweat
of force, in the de-
hydrated leaves of grain, a finger
whispers to each
vertebrae
muted.

I never spoke dusk,
but your hands could, still
warm from reflected heat
like molten lightning over the fields
in august. your touch
prolonged the rain.

Now it feels older,
a spirit, an
ancestor
dancing with the sparks
and the flames, as fire
devours wood.