My Circle

when I was a boy
I sat in a classroom
my desk in a row of desks
under tubes of fluorescence

my Indian lessons were time lines
of wars and bad whiskey
the cavalry yahoo! of John Wayne
diseases fat as a textbook

now in these woods
my head isn't thick
with events

I am not an historical white man
I am not an historical Indian
I am not an historical anyone

I am native —
right now

I walk the curve of the forest
I listen to the breathing rocks
I listen to the swelling berries

and under the moon
the night croaking away
Coyote and I sit around
remembering myths

our native eyes watching
the wind in the darkness
pushing our circle of fire
beyond history