In the rain just now
          Before dusk…

          The smallest stones on the shoreline light their lamps….

          Each morning
          The same songs
          Hang from the trees where the owls sleep….

          Soft songs melting through the leaves

          The fragile leaves….

          Hiding among the death masks
          The still open hands….

          Over which a nightmare I have dreamt all my life

          Is sounding….

The songs
Foggia Italy
4/27/19

✺  ✺  ✺  ✺  ✺

          Sorrow is no longer a word….as sadness….
          as loss….

          They are no longer words
          If you are brown……if you are the
          Other….they have not been words for us
          For a long time….
          They exist with us….

          Fear is a word to us….
          It marks the path of our enemies….

          They fear….
          They are not like us…we can smell their dead souls….
          Their empty shadows….

          Colorless….
          Alone…..

Dog soldier song
For El Paso
8/5/19

✺  ✺  ✺  ✺  ✺

          Rain misting the inside of a
          Broken bell….
          Wolf tracks leading us out of our fear…

          bruised light in the waterless jars….

          We traverse…
          You in your coat made of

          Trembling feathers….

For the raven that awoke me….
11/26/19

A poet of the Cheyenne nation of Oklahoma, Lance Henson has published 43 books in 23 languages, and has maintained a cultural indigenous world view that opposes the mistreatment of indigenous peoples the world over. His literary project Words From the Edge has invited poets from endangered tribal peoples to Europe to share their stories and poems. His latest book, the dead zone,has found publication in France, Columbia, and Italy.
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