Soul Stance River - 26
With our Shoshone friends and escorts we are headed to the Nez Perce Trail,
an ancient path that joins the West to East, its late August
the pines smell spiced with emerald soul, wise and healthy,
its getting harder to breathe but easier to believe
that we are destin to be the poets of our own history,
Cameahwait and his guides are solemn in their acquiescence
to show us where the Missouri is birthed, reticent they are
we know not why but we are ecstatic to behold the source
which we shall pass before reaching the trail,
uphill into a clearing of gentle jades of green
on ground soft with the moisture of fertility
a thin stream slowly skips through a tumbling journey
as we ascend between the budding hips of this mountain
the stream becomes no more than a gurgling trickle
slipping down from the snowy peaks,
each of us takes a turn standing over this mountain menstruation
with a foot on both sides as a gesture of respect and conquest
how far we've come, and labored
against the whims, fury and power of the Missouri
and here we are, giants above it's innocence,
J.A.B.
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