As children we lay on the ground and let the wind
Flow over us. On our backs we gazed up at
The deep-seated sky and felt dust darken our eyes.
On our stomachs we gripped the earth and heard

The ground groan. When we returned to our homes
That huddled beside a few spindly trees,
We felt abandoned: any edifice seemed false.
The Technicolor sunsets ridiculed us.

How to stand up? How to take the wind in your chest
And not huff and choke? When Henry Spotted Horse
Collapsed on Main Street one autumn afternoon,
I looked down cautiously. His eyes were staring
In different directions. “Son, you have to live for
Hundreds of years before you know anything.”

Baron Wormser