One Dish

Lead me, my Kwe, down the rabbit burrows in your eyes;

Past the White Roots of Peace, outstretched like a splayed hand.

Envelope me within your rich, insulated ground,

Six feet below the soundscape of the waking world.

I'll follow you, Runner, circumnavigate Earth's crust,

Bring tobacco to your ancestors in gratitude:

Your resilience: an oak tree during a thunderstorm.

Your voice is the winter wind whistling while I'm in bed.

Your footprints are traplines in the snow, I've succumbed.

Your hair is the sweetgrass that sparkles in the daylight.

Your skin glistens with teh spirit of your relations;

And your mind, like still water, reflects untampered truth.

My love for you is the sound of rain marching up-lake;

It's the warmth of a summer sun in a grassy field.

My heart buzzes for you like a million cicadas;

Fluttering infinitely like falling maple keys.

You're my radiant core; tectonic and magnetic;

The pulsing of a hand drum under Grandmother Moon.

I'll treat you kindly, like birch bark soaking in warm water;

Never pluck, in excess, the berries from your branches.

I will not dwell or resist the coming of your seasons;

Never ask the air to carry cruel words to your ears;

For every sunrise faced united, from this point on,

We will sit at the table with one dish and one spoon.