the meaning of its name forgotten,
the word remembered.
Whatever happened here
in another time and it’s remembered
inside the stolen self
that my blood river passes through
in thin and beautiful veins, not gold
but only a mere human heartbeat,
a circle of people
standing, talking, making their plans
as water passes by.
Something, someone is still alive, telling.
They think these are only stories
not what holds the world together
in its balance.
by Linda Hogan