Dancing with the blades of waves, silence breaks through.
Drown out the rivers, nature speaks true.
Dip, spin, and sway with terrains,
looming canvases, weaving sweetgrass.
Tap around rocks in meadows,
laying out the fields without compasses.
No tracing, it won’t show just let go.
It’s not a race. Kick, and spin with control.
Steady pace; swing, braid away.
Without beats to stomp on, the rapids slow down,
safe to walk on, without needing to think how.
Leaving the trailers before frames fell in night,
flash photos collapsed: collages lost under smoke someone set alight.
Pouring beads of sweat to create; missteps aren’t always mistakes.
Crave to rebuild, receive, like notches ingrained in their hilts —
paying their old flame’s receipts, and splotches our relatives spilled.
Steady hips, drop; swing the other way.
Float with control, don’t chase with the shadows, light another way.
Twist up snakes in the grass. Growing their mouths wider,
the dancers won’t retire, why? Cycles rest with medicinal dyes.
Valuing ashes behind their shades, snagged by the ribbons they made.
Swaying without rhythm,
take a step back, lighten up, play tunes,
pour a glass, make a bath, let it flow, but —
put the reprimands to rest for another day.
Rest, the moons push, pulls, as waves,
crescent blades cut away.
“Peji Waci”, haiku
In thousands of ways,
grass dancing, weaves; with the sway,
folding blades away.
