Migration

by Tsultrim Allione

Wakened by elk’s bugle
Single, long, loud
Followed by another, cutting the edge of dawn sky
Then the coyotes follow squealing
Down below
In wild rose and antelope brush thickets
As I call the Dakas and Dakinis
To come with from space with their bells and drums
The elk are coming through
Following the skeletal traces of ancient migration paths
Waning moon is still high
Against the rainbow-hued horizon,
clear, cold, cobalt sky
I rise and make a fire
Return to bed recalling a dream fragment
The men are separated from the women
A young girl runs between them.

The elk calls again,
Insistent
Looking for a mate
Dawn will melt the moon

 

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