Today's closing hangs lower than it did yesterday,
trying to mess with tomorrow's dreams.
Sitting here, dressed in a wry smile, my heart
whispers to a sky, tie-dyed with the jewel
of Navaho stone and the salmon pinks
of Tsimshian legend.
I feed myself with steam from Irish tea,
invoking the memory of my first Lakota sweat lodge,
and take comfort tracking what's left of tonight in Indian time;
tomorrow will have to wait 'til I get there.
This now is meant for savoring the scent,
sounds, and sights of Mother Earth
as she gets ready to tamp down the fire
of a troubled day, leaving my peace
under the watchful eyes of a Harvest Moon.