Open Season

Last night, campfires were milky ways             
of stars arched into the atmosphere.                
                 
Above, the ashen thumbnail of God                
scrolled across a parchment of hours.        
           
Today, the stars became super-novas                
ceremonial burnings, first blood rituals.           
                 
Beyond, white men stand as though awaiting  
a parade, the 21st Century Trail of Tears.              
                 
Or, perhaps for open season to begin again               
on the rare and endangered Native American.                  
~                
                 
                 
                 
Author's note: Peace to all participants of Standing Rock Indian Reservation.  
The battle may seem lost, but the war has just begun.          
           
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