I spent some time on an isle a blown
bubbled globe sufficiently wide, puffed of
breath, of spirit, of ideas to accessorize.
The people there wear feathered earrings,
bird fluff brush heads to
cerebral something like
paint in the colors of wind,
and catch Nature wending
in leylines strung between well-
tuned souls, feathers catching
a new dream of Tribe.
Their song is the sound
of it sounds like, thought
is the feels how
it looked like, and Knowing
is the buckskin on blonde
sign of an idea
of Knowing.
Natural.
At the border the sea
is the changing Same, they say,
loving recycling and rights claims.
But turquoise and copper didn’t make me feel
more authentic. Just pale
and different, some flightless bird.
