Native

Beyond my sleep state

This dizzy Landscape of mine,

This dream place of mind

Holds me, longing, the way

A lover or mother might do.

But every time the light interrupts like that because

Mornings are rude, and ask me to always be

Working and pilling away at the

Skin of my days, the cotton of my years

To take my hymn and lock my door

But my blood still flows quickly across patterns

Of this old world  

In the sand and in the sun

Through doors and doors which are not doors

In this room

Inside my mother’s womb

A staircase is not a staircase

A room is not a room

I carried a hard heart, and she carried me

In case someone tries to take…

But I don’t seem to have the right things

To give, and whatever is mine

Sneaks out in the middle of the night

Through a tiny window, around a corner

Under your tree

Take flight little heartbeat 

Under sweet midnight suns

Run swiftly, run free

Out of the skull of an angry man’s rule

We’ve tried this before, please don’t forget about that

Enough time spent burying old bones

Beneath the trunk of a

Great house and a slight wind

Native holding, hiding, waiting

Little womb/room for a staircase overhead

Waiting raining breathing praying

Close your eyes into mine

And tell me, what is it that you’re painting?

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