When I face north a lost Cree
on some new shore puts a moccasin down,
rock in the light and noon for seeing,
he in a hurry and I beside him
It will be a long trip; he will be a new chief;
we have drunk new water from an unnamed stream;
under little dark trees he is to find a path
we both must travel because we have met.
Henceforth we gesture even by waiting;
there is a grain of sand on his knifeblade
so small he blows it and while his breathing
darkens the steel his become set
And start a new vision: the rest of his life.
We will mean what he does. Back of this page
the path turns north. We are looking for a sign.
Our moccasins do not mark the ground.
Submitted by Bakari Thomas
Returned To Say
William Stafford
(1)
Poem topics: dark, life, light, lost, travel, water, shore, steel, long, small, face, start, vision, stream, gesture, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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