Monday, June 18, 2012

Happy hunting ground

I still walk these paths in my dreams,
the old trails that weave through my life
my roots always exposed,
the totems of my passing on every side
wearing faces I no longer recognize
as my own,
sweat lodge brothers gone now
from days when we hunted together,
not buffalo or deer
but some more illusive game
we could never identify,
I can’t even now
when my brother has moved on
and I age here waiting for the call
that would bring me
to that sacred hunting ground
so that we might hunt together again
What can this thing be
that we would waste our youth
in its pursuit
or has age made me no wiser
that my feet and heart
pursue it still
tripping over these same roots
drawing up the same pain
I thought had passed
wisdom, I learn,
does not come with age
merely from experience

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