The Wind Sycamore

I am the wind
I am voice of the earth.

Where are my children
Where have they gone?

They bring not their warm hearts
To this place anymore.

Where is the dancing
Where is the laughter?

Where are the mirrors in eager faces
Where I found my true reflection?

Where are the sun-warmed faces
I knew so long ago?

Where is the song and chant of dreaming
The knowing dance of being?

Where are my children
Where have they gone?

I am the wind
Voice of the earth.


This poem is from CROW STORY: A Tale From the Oak Grove, a fable I wrote about the Chumash, a tribe of Native Americans living in Santa Barbara and Ventura. The Wind Sycamore was a place sacred to them. The letter-pressed book was illustrated with lithographs.