Ash leaves rising

I do not need shoes to walk.

The Strawberry Moon whistles behind waves.

Sunflowers pull black bees.

Tides carry shells out to sea.

Sour Grass fades under a melon planting sun.

I do not have to count stems to plant corn and beans and squash.

I am a child whose legs glisten like ash leaves under a Harvest Moon.

I do not need to gather money to breathe into the cane of a flute,

nor do I need the songs of those who killed the ancestors

to dance.

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