A night of whisperings and sighs
sifting rain through leaf and branch,
shifting emphases and memories
stratified as histories.
I dream a scene of rippled dunes,
totems stark upon a mound
where all around the sand
comes shuffling in oxhide moccasins.
The sunset flares in manes of mares
above the place of burials,
where soft white gloves prepare
to breach sarcophagi of poplar wood.
The pale face of a young woman
with homespun headwear is disclosed,
her eyelashes still lustrous fans
on cheeks in porcelain repose.
People of the poplar, ox and grain
migrated to these lands,
and tilled the earth to harvest wheat,
and then bequeathed this silent clan
now islanded by saline ground,
the desolate Talikmakan.
Beneath the poles of poplar wood
primed red for women, black for men,
lie people of the fertile plains
becoming people of the sands.
Oneiric ancestors
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108060202230
Свидетельство о публикации №108060202230
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