What the Eagle Fan Says

I strung dazzling thrones     of thunder beings
on a spiraling thread     of spinning flight,
beading dawn's blood     and blue of noon
to the gold and dark     of day's leaving,
circling with sun     the soaring heaven
over turquoise eyes     of Earth below
her silver veins,     her sable fur,
heard human relatives     hunting beneath
calling me down,     crying their need
that I bring them closer     to Wakonda's ways,
and I turned from heaven     to help them then.
When the bullet came     it caught my heart,
the hunter's hands     gave Earth its blood,
loosened light beings,     and let us float
toward the sacred center     of song in the drum,
but fixed us first     firm in tree-heart
that green knife-dancers     gave to men's knives,
ash-heart in hiding where     a deer's heart had beat,
and a one-eyed serpent     with silver-straight head
strung tiny rattles     around white softness
in beaded harmonies     of blue and red --
now I move lightly     in a man's left hand,
above dancing feet     follow the sun
around old songs     soaring toward heaven
on human breath     and I help them rise.