The presence of the land is undeniable,
yet something subtle has gone away.
Listen to endangerment in all voices.

It seems two hundred ardent winters pass,
not to mention spring. So much sadness
rolled through your veil, our eyes growing

Soft as we climbed over our fallen fence,
over your field. You say the bunch grass
grew shoulder high where the laurel bay

Trees spotted soft curves. We whisper
under the shelter of the immense oaks,

as you rustle leaves and giant acorns.

In the darkening, you make us weary
and quiet. We breathe, we listen,
You tell us inside our bodies is a place.

We imagine violet changing into indigo
light, floating, breathing to blue wafting
into green. We listen to their breath turn

Gold falling into orange. You are Spirit
turning deep red. We look to your east
and see sunrise lemon pepper trees.

Listening to great-horned owl
eyeing field mouse scurrying through
meadow. How can we be certain of

Our efforts to protect you, great Spirit?
Will our attempts or our witness come to
anything? You are connected to ancient

Flocks of geese rising with noise like one
of my hurricanes. We will know death,
but not end of our acts. We leave pride

As we listen, but not hope. In the south,
you bring us to noon. Red-tailed hawk
lands on buckeye tree with a whoosh.

We hear the sun bear down on your fallen
branches, the seeds we shall gather.
What tears us apart? What spurs us —

The keen division you insist works
against outspoken wishes of our
elders. We hear we are separate

From herds of elks’ tremendous horns
grazing in masses. Spirit, we know you
are the land, feeding hungering animals,

Watering the thirsty beings. You watch us
imagine our illusion of security, not 

sanctuary from the cycle gnawing us.

Angry, we toil in Spirits’ loving dance.
In the west, you set persimmon sun,
charcoal streaks the sky. Jackrabbits

Burrow to flee sight of bald eagles gliding
overhead. What hastened evening for you?
To draw us near to others, comfort them?

Witness all we fear: mountain lions, bobcats,
coyotes under peaceful boughs of olive trees.
Caught in the palms of your creatures’ hands,

Leaving safety, not friends. You blanket northern
skies. Midnight covers raccoons, possums, silver
shadow of moon. You hear water bubbling from

The sea. Spring brooks, ponds, even lakes, filling
rivers, fall into valleys under the clarity of stars.
Humans dream together, as you build a mountain

Of twig and the black earth as we sleep.
Our prayers braided, laid down at the altar of change.
We leave, begging to climb, not to fall.