We were there at the mouth of the windblown channel
Near the end of a paddle
The sky was opening up just as it was closing down
Kokohead stood in a warrior cape of mist above us
And below the boat rolled the blue kingdom of knowledge.
We paused there at the culmination of ten thousand paths:
Six travelers pulling together in that sacred outrigger.
As the day lay down behind the crater,
One year floated up behind another
And all the births, partings and deaths we carried with us
Grew wise, then lighter.
c Joy Harjo
1 comment:
Poetry is news that stays news.
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