Grandfather cloud | Mound-god


The grandfather
does not bury
the grandson
And the grandson
does not want to ever bury
the grandfather.
Though the soil
is the bed
of all our grandfathers
and grandmothers
of all our grandchildren
and life to come,
Still the grandfather
does not bury
the grandson.

We take turns
guarding over
each other’s sleep
to sit facing each other
sharing a meal of dreams
sharing the present and the future
guarding over the soil

The rain is my grandmother
My grandfather
is a cloud
a swirling serpent cloud
that siphons lakes and rivers
and blesses the sun-caked lands
with rains
The land, the soil, is my grandmothjer
My grandmother is plains, hills,
Ravines, canyons, mountains
And the ravaged dust
the roots, the seeds, the whirlwinds
that raise the banners of dust
are my ancestors
the soft, the gentle spiderweb
wrapped around my shoulders
and my tongue
capturing words and umbilical cords
to self-gestate our own todays and tomorrows
clouds, lands, roots, seeds, wind and
Rivers, creeks, lakes, glaciers, waterfalls
bays and oceans do not bury the clouds…


My grandfather hauled
stones on his back made of clouds
to build temples the size of mountains
temples carried
on his back
made of clouds
temples he made
so that the earth
could touch the clouds

My grandfather built catherdrals
and churches
to get lost in the maze of god
scaffolds made of lightning
that blazed out of his ribs and back
He carried stones
on his back made of clouds
He carried mounds of rocks
and dirt
piled them
on top of stones
on top of backs made of clouds,
temples, cathedrals, churches
places where god was lost….

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