just once just long enough to snap up the words fish-hooked from to our tongues. 5 You think of us now when you kneel on the earth, turn holy in a temporary tourism 10 of our souls. With words you paint your faces, chew your doeskin, touch breast to tree 15 as if sharing a mother were all it takes, could bring instant and primal knowledge. You think of us only 20 when your voice wants for roots, when you have sat back on your heels and become 25 primitive. You finish your poem and go back.