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.