Your Long Eyes

In the breaking voice of sparrows,
I dream with the red brush;
the clouds, hued with the eye of the sun,
in the sky at the edge of mountains . . .
The promise moon travels, far and wide,
and raises the dust of your long eyes
and the heaving breath of good news
In your homeland, the sky is brightening
Mingling in the flight of crows, a line
of v-shaped geese in the distance, I
walk the path, where buffaloes have gone,
to sing with the drums, the moonlight and
the breeze that ceases restless sorrow
and unleashes the flight of the golden eagle…

Deborah Russell, © 2007