Tried

Grand, seeming

Tops and tilts, flights and clips atop the trees and willow-wisps,

As high and bright as smiles, innocence, innocence.

But in a moment, what he always knew, from the Other Side

Sadly, something ominous.

“I am not anatomically correct with wildflowers

And where they go.”

In this time of human extremes,

Human experience with human conflict racked through his body

As if he were bitten by dogs and plagued by wooden beams

He, like a sail and a mast, tried to keep it steady

And accomplished so at last….

Grief, grief, grief…..

Probably the most beautiful emotion.

He dreamt of buffalo, springtime, plains and religion in tribes

Hidden in memory, something to be commemorated

In music, poetry, and memorialized.

Something only warns.

Frontiers are only a temporary time and he is tried, tried as the ocean.

“I could be that animal that drives the devil back, then.”