January 16, 2010


We were born sining prayers to the Earth.
Our songs carried in the wind
and took refuge inside of fire.
They lit from the outside in
as they twisted
and curled.
We let the meaning rest
on the skin of our faces
and sink into our bones.

When our fingertips no longer needed answers,
we silenced our songs with the breath of our lips,
turning the words to gray as they spiraled upwards
to become part of the Sun.

Now we stretch our arms to the sky
longing to hold the Sun in our hands
and let its light break between our fingers.
Mother Earth writes poetry in the lines of our skin
and whispers to the furthest point in our eyes
longing for us to remember.
We forgot how to listen.

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