High atop the mountain
A boy crouched alone in the vision pit – waiting.
Raising his red stone pipe to the four directions
He sent clouds of willow bark smoke
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Beautifully written. Sweeps the reader along with all that is happening. Makes one weep for the past and desperately hope that the vision can be preserved and realized.
Robert, the reverence herein chants into the bones-perhaps if we all would consciously undertake our vision quest, our people might yet live. Phillip
There is a lovely warmth withing the narrative and the structure of the stanzas is exceptional. It strikes me that there must be a similarity between music and poetry as this, along with other poems of yours, carries a melody (atonal if you like! lol) .
A yoeman willing to reclaim and capable of reviving poetry's foundations in communal narratives.