L C Vieira
'Unworthy of this wilderness,
a majesty too great for kings,
lakes and rivers, wide as dreams,
moving faster than my words;
I'm humbled by this wilderness,
I have so little left to hold.
Few are these last provisions;
I am but a guest out here.
I am so small beneath these tall trees;
some fall hard as others rise.
High winds lift them up 'round me;
drum beat step in their own time.
Bright sun sneaks to hide each day,
so stars more brilliantly can shine.
Dancing native spirit skies,
calm us now, these anxious souls.
Brown Leather Jacket
You are the moist tip of my tongue;
the silent pause in the air
I take in - and the one that breaks out.
You are a selfless act in the river of my blood,
taking this tossed-about spirit,
and folding it gently against your breast,
I am warmed, safe and believing