Sacred Ground Poem by Smoky Hoss

The slow night air
Eases across my body
Laying so simple upon the lonesome praire
Under the western stars-
It brings the smell
And feel
Of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years;
The ancient dirt, made
Of long gone Bison manure,
The dryness of wind blown dust, made
Sacred by the bones of long forgotten Native Americans-
The depth of the dark
Can only be measured here
By the dim light of those
Distant fire balls, and by
The just out of reach Lightning Bugs
(like a spirit in the sky both are untouchable) .
I lay prone, and very still
Barely breathing
Not a sound dare I make,
For truly I tell you:
This is indeed
Sacred Ground.
Blessed from
Eternity to Eternity.