Breathing Magic
She sees him still
at the river,
kneeling to drink
and get cool.
She hears his voice
in the murmur
as it empties into the stillness
of the pool.
She remembers the smell
of cedar,
of sweetgrass,
and sage smoke.
And always she hears
the medicine
in the truth-words
that he spoke.
On lonely days
she holds him close;
wonders silently
where he’s been.
His love is hers
as long as she sits,
forever breathing
his magic in.
Copyright © Debra Coppinger Hill | Year Posted 2005
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment