Bringing Forth the Ancestors

Against the pale sky blue mountains, and in the mountainous sky heavy clouds the size of continents. My eyes are travelers, my heart an old wagon full of vagrants. Mostly this life has passed infected by a desire to rescue animals. Touching the shark, getting on your knees to see deeper into the bear den. What is a wasp's nest if not this? I was hurt a lot as a child and it affects me now, it really does, and this is neither a new nor a significant story, and yet. The one whose blessing we ask first and whose grace-filled presence we say thank you for last. Blossoms fall off the poinsettas, poems disappear into regions of the mind unmapped and unexplored. Guns go off. A kind of daze now and then interrupted by religious awe. I remember her killing the snake with a hoe, flinging its body into the forest - the snake coming apart in the sky, each piece a bloody sigil - a gesture that remains both magnificent and horrifying. Perhaps what we are does not exist in physical form but physical form exists in what we are. Anyway, we're nearing the end. Stirring the soup, sharing a coffee, bringing forth the ancestors. I mean worthy, wanted, welcome at last.