As children we lay on the ground and let the wind Flow over us. On our backs we gazed up at The deep-seated sky and felt dust darken our eyes. On our stomachs we gripped the earth and heard The ground groan. When we returned to our homes That huddled beside a few spindly trees, We felt abandoned: any edifice seemed false. The Technicolor sunsets ridiculed us. How to stand up? How to take the wind in your chest And not huff and choke? When Henry Spotted Horse Collapsed on Main Street one autumn afternoon, I looked down cautiously. His eyes were staring In different directions. "Son, you have to live for Hundreds of years before you know anything." "Great Plains" by Baron Wormser