SÂKIPAKAWI-PÎSIM: MAY | THE BUDDING MOON
Night by day, day by night
all things awaken
on the white stars of midnight.
Amid the deepest green,
the quaking leaves, spruce boughs
green willow and damp moss
we make our altar
and give our naked selves.
Moon, moon
Nôhkom
in my hands I see his face,
carved from pipestone,
fireweed in his eyes,
his mouth canyon flowers,
pink petals opening and falling
like drops of unsung rain
over my flesh, and moon
moon in my hands
he is hard earth, a high cliff wall
I climb and descend
into secret kivas
leaving corndust and prayers,
burn marks etched by my fingers.
iya, iya
his buds sing to my lips,
Nôhkom
his buds are singing, calling
the horses home
Nôhkom: Grandmother
iya, iya: exclamation of great pleasure