LISTENING TO NAKAI
I.
Wooden throated flute songwinds no horse trainer can harness
travel back and forth soothingly, lightly, like
downy feathers floating
breeze back in spring, settling
nowhere, just filling a void
rising, fading, reappearing on horizon's forehead
slapping watercolor granite mountains, bouncing
back into the valley invigorated,
reinvented, falling into Dawn's cupped
hands, liberated from nightfall's silent embrace.
II.
Nakai, I hear you, likewhispering reeds, notes bunch together
only to push apart. Bear
walks between us, claws bark from
imaginary trees—I shudder, the
cacophony sending me to smoky
dens, iniquity's stepchildren,
elders cross-linking
saplings and bone to fortify structures
shaping today's creations, a balancing
act framing future losses…still listening,
listening to fluttering birds on wing,
sunlight's noon advancement,
twilight's amorous fan,
starlight's flirtatious wink,
spontaneously accepting the
wavering wooden flute voice
nakedly shaking like a nervous lover,
clothes falling to the floor apprehensively, yet
in perfect accord with the moment