will forever be in this land,
on this island for our spirits run heavy in this place.
We are made
of this place,
the island of islands.
And my spirit
is the moon over the lake,
the vapor of the breaths of my descendants
when they run hard through the fields on cold nights
with stars all above and around them and
shining off the perfect calm of the water.
is in them when they are tracking deer on the cold winter
the chase and precise timing of the kill,
and sleeping curled together for warmth in deep snow,
their mouths covered in fresh, dried blood from their feasting.
is of the dark and wind and perfect stillness
before a summer storm and the sounds of slow,
rolling thunder off the lake, echoing through the trees.
is the smell of wet grass and wildflowers,
and all the colors of the land and water and sky.
you are out walking in the woods
and you see a wolf out of the corner of your eye.
And you look
that way and nothing is there.