Z: Blood Red with Dawn

Blood Red With Dawn

When the mountain was blood red with dawn
I made an altar of smooth stones
then kneeled
and called your name.

I heard your call.

When the river boiled with white foam
between sacred rocks
I stood waist deep
and cried out for you.

I heard you call my name.

On the plains where our ancestors lay
in the grasp of holy boughs
I cast stones upon the ground
and looked for your there.

I was there.

At dawn you were like the morning mist:
At once visible, and not.
As distant as the dimmest dream.

Is that your voice in the morning winds?