A Song I Stole From Wounded Knee

Notes few and long and steady 

flutter here and there in the attic’s pregnant dust.  

Her Lakota flute is flirting

 with the thunder of bison hooves,

 like a Jaipur flute prays 

to a cobra’s silent hood. 

Notes few and long and steady 

flutter here and there, 

luring trances from the floating air. 

Rhythms from holy mountains,  

born to dream-flower deserts, 

whirl through deep sharp canyons-  

waiting for wind they call breath 

to ply the clouds 

I follow her notes 

as they cling to angled edges of light that filter

through openings to the sky. 

Notes few and long and steady 

flutter here and there.