Crestone DeerPeople
Light separates us from the ordinary world,
guiding us into the spirit way,
pulling figures away from the ground.
It’s a blue jay morning in the pinion trees,
the dry sun shimmering with feathers,
then it's afternoon, with the white cold sun
tearing through the mountain colors.
Evening comes, and it’s feeding time,
deer muzzled in frost and silhouetted.
Then night again, with its half-lit rooms
and profile faces shining in the firelight.
It’s midnight now, and the sky is splintering with stars,
each one watching while its being sleeps.
guiding us into the spirit way,
pulling figures away from the ground.
It’s a blue jay morning in the pinion trees,
the dry sun shimmering with feathers,
then it's afternoon, with the white cold sun
tearing through the mountain colors.
Evening comes, and it’s feeding time,
deer muzzled in frost and silhouetted.
Then night again, with its half-lit rooms
and profile faces shining in the firelight.
It’s midnight now, and the sky is splintering with stars,
each one watching while its being sleeps.
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