The Wind

Little Obsidian Poppers
Marks She made on Paper
Notes She wrote in the Kitchen
As I cooked

Horns when heaving
Turn into neat Sheaves of Wheat
And then Leaves,
Veins, Arteries, Rivers

Look at these Hands
How blessed I am to see Them
In Photographs of Ancestors,
You, who I never knew

Hello Hands
Hello Lips
Hello Eyes 
and Hips

Thank you, 
All Beings,
You are my Teachers.
Bless these Knees and Wrists

Oh His Story of ghostly Existence 
And Grievous Bodily Harm!
I love and leave you
For I go now with my Teacher and Friend, the Wind.