The old Injun woman sat

In her cradle of darkness

And looked down at

Her demure crossed hands

Brown and papery and wrinkled

Sly left over right

Her grey streaked braids hung

On either side of her shuttered, wise face

Their faded beads hushed



Lips thin, pursed


Body clutched silent

In the soft dark veil



I glanced down at her

Tell me please tell me

And caressed the smooth worn windowsill

And the wind howled

Raging, warning, pleading.

Her lips smiled

So motherly, so tender

Join them, be free

Fondling the air beneath her wizened


And far below us flew carefree

Wraiths and black souls

Wild, peaceful, joy

Swooping and calling among the hills

Like the sleek birds that they had become

I saw the gleaming dark blue sky

And the dancing smiling green fields

And the bright singing yellow sun

Sparkling psychedelic glory

It was almost like a


An oil painting that I could have done


But too real.

And then

My foot was suddenly on the sill

How had it moved the–

Encouragement glowing from her warm eyes

And my arms lifted


The wind was on my face

And my body stilled, ready to plunge

Into the otherworldly paradise

And fly, like a bird

Go home, her brown lips whispered

Weathered brow lifting in

Youthful ecstasy

Like she was relieving something

Of her past

Then I dropped, graceful and yearning

Red hair shining




Into the wilderness below


Leaving the empty windowsill and

The dark cradle