Painting by Lynne Taetzsch
From notes written the morning of July 8th, Albuquerque:
I wanted to ask her, where did the bruises really come from?
No.
I didn’t need to ask.
I knew.
Or knew at 3AM with the wind a train
In the speed of dark
Which is inverse to the speed of light.
I saw her spirit at the edge
Of the sleeping shore.
We were both afraid of the current.
This is a test, said the water.
Floating shit is not a poetic device or a literal translation
The earth takes another heavy breath
Joy Harjo 2006
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