The tall dense pine shadows
feel the rain
of the sky, silently
the way we
are often asked
to hold
our ancestors pain
and walk the long way home.
I stand in rubber boots
on steps made of stone.
The stone leads to the front door
of a house I did not build
but dreamt of
many years
before.
It’s time.
Make an altar
at the edge of tame
where the wild begins in you.
Leave an offering
each morning
before you take your own.
Ring a bell, send smoke
however you praise.
Feed the hungry
who rest on your shoulders
in neck, bones, ears.
Feed the hungry
who whisper rain
into your heart
for grief
they left undone.
Here Family
take words
take prayers
in pencil, pen, and food.
Take this art
and leave the lights on.
Let the maker
be.
