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I thought I'd read a few poems
to start out with and then read

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a couple of sections
out of my novel--

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a couple of short sections--

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and then finish with
a few more poems.

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This one is called
"In My Lifetime."

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"This day, the children
of Speakthunder

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run the wrong man, a saint
unable to love a weasel way,

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able only to smile and drink the
wind that makes the others go.

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Trees are ancient in his breath.

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His bleeding feet tell a
story of run the sacred way,

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chase the antelope naked till
it drops, the odor of run

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quiet in his blood.

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He watches cactus
jump against the moon.

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Moon is speaking woman
to the ancient fire.

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Always woman.

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His sins were numerous,
this wrong man.

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Buttes were good to listen from.

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With thunder-hands, his father
shaped the dust, circled fire,

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tumbled up the wind
to make a fool.

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Now the fool is dead.

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His bones go back
so scarred in time

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the buttes are young
to look for signs that

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say a man could love his
fate, that winter in the blood

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is one sad thing.

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His sins-- I don't explain.

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Desperate in my song, I
run these woman hills,

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translate wind to
mean a kind of life.

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The children of Speakthunder
are never wrong,

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and I am rhythm to
strong medicine.

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