Wherever I was born,
\nthe sky comes to me.
\nThe lost island is found.
\nThe day returns and I walk
\nwith the peace of waves at my feet.
\nI am at home with myself.<\/p>\n
Things return to me,
\nthe seasons, animals,
\nbravery which grows with the feathers
\nof the sacred eagle.
\nI return to the shadows of a street,
\na railroad,
\na bay.
\nThe shadows of apple trees follow me.
\nMy feet have memorized the stones.<\/p>\n
I hear the echo of air
\noff the buildings.
\nI hear voices
\nfrom a drawer of old letters.
\nFaces leap up.
\nThe touch of the paper
\nfeel of kisses,
\na smell of confinement
\nin the room of my sorrow.<\/p>\n
My soul struggles with its distance.
\nThe blood of Indians flows in me.
\nI answer the trees.
\nI hear the calls of dead wolves.
\nI never forget who I love.
\nI walk into the sea.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Wherever I was born, the sky comes to me. The lost island is found. The day returns and I walk with the peace of waves…<\/p>\n