(For Ahila)

the cedar sways

rain blots a petal of sand at my feet

An ochre birthmark

The image prints

A white flesh rune

in my freckle blue head

At the roots of my fingers

The knot stirs

moves into the black thick fountainpen

onto the page

With this ink

I irrigate my ochre children

My cedar grows strong

I shall carve it like a totem

Robert James Berry