IN PRAISE OF POWAZKI


Here, I am not all death.

There is more life in me than you could ever imagine.

There is a wildness travelling my bones.

A Slavic wind, a world wind, dances through my trees.

Perched atop my speaking stones

Crows and jays and blackbirds sing

There is a wildness travelling my bones

A world wind dancing through my trees here

I am not all death.