The tin door to this

matchbox ramada on flat tires

swings open west where ancestors

having crossed-over journey to their eternal rest

from here behind Three Rivers Lodge I observe

center nerve of an infinite Universe:

An almond orchard shielding ghostly

California Coast Ranges

A Hogan we ceremony in night long

around the fire with medicine and songs

a sweatlodge where steam the breath

of Grandfather purifies our common

pitiful bodies minds and spirits

a pow-wow arena alive only

4th of July weekends

here through Indian eyes I observe

this tiny world dawn to dusk

where no wars wage and there

aren’t drive-by’s or roadrage

where no dope dealers poison

for pathetic profit their own peoples

where no theologians solicit

theories of apocalypses

where no political piranhas propagate

ideological deceptions

where no manifest-destiny build fences

fashioned from blueprints for genocide

no, here I observe tiny country world

where Indian men in a Recovery Center smile sober

here I observe top of arena’s center pole

a redtail hawk perched scoping

for dinner squirrels dashing underground

here I listen to a band of coyotes

invisible but close howling their bellies

desire chickens or goats or both

here I observe sky shed it’s blue

into hues of reds and purples

as a laughing moon balloons up to it’s temple

and harmonic stars robe around

it as San Joaquin Delta breezes purge

through whispering ol’ trees swaying

in mild mannered dance as warrior magpies

kamikaze the hawk and crickets and their tiny

cousins riot across sacred grounds

as evenings’ ceremony blooms into night song

here from an abalone shell a stick of sage is lit

and I smudge giving thanks for another day

has lived and is gone and I step into

the trailer hit the sack a tired cat

prepare to journey into dreamworld

where anything and everything is possible

but before that peep out tiny window

observe a dozen spirits

dance around the arena

like they always do

behind the lodge .