I catch a glimpse of them
peripherally
when my mind is calmed
on busy city streets
walking close to the land
in small groups and bands
the Native Peoples who still
reside where tall buildings attempt to hide
the land where eons have passed by
they stay these caretakers of the Earth
and not can hide them
not traffic light
nor speeding car
not pavement and curbing hide the scar
where once the land was fresh and new
where every living thing burst forth
and kept good company
with he who loved the land
Now as I walk the crowded street
I see the moccasins compete
with littered walks and well shone feet
I see them there an endless line
of long forgotten times
and there atop the hill I see
my Ancestors looking down at me
their feathers blowing in the wind
the painted ponies eye
reflects the damage we have done
to Earth and Wind and Sky.

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