Before Our Lives Were Here
The language of our elders
whispers soft upon our skin.
We see it in the landscape of our lives.
Trees dance to it.
They pull the soul of life
from out the earth.
We will say the flowers grow.
We will say the winds blow.
But the truest words of our language
are the ones that we forget to know.
When we speak to our children
it is from the echoes that we hear.
Those soft sunbeams of birth
upon canyon walls.
Those fierce winds that bellow
down the halls of our lost heritage.
We are the nature
we feel separated from.
The wind is our spirit,
without the burden of time.
The sun was our vision
before we could see to rhyme.
We will always be together
in the heartbeat that is God,
and I will be upon your skin as sunshine
and I will be upon your breath as air
and we will dance upon the earth
to the music of languages
born before our lives were here.
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