Solstice Paddle

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:

Bob said...

Poetry is news that stays news.