Glimpsing the ocean, she remembers herself.
At night she dreams of bones dancing in the old growth.
In the daytime she lives in a state of chronic fuming.
She hears her name in a raven’s call.
The hot sun faintly stirs the heat resting between her thighs.
She smells her scent when rain soaks the earth.
A wailing from her belly threatens to rise with the full moon.
Mist on the horizon brings whispering ancestors.
A pawprint in the sand is assurance her pack endures.
The howling wind calls to her, “This way…”
The glowing cell of her foremother’s wisdom is sparked by a flash of lightning.
In the gloaming she can see the shadows of the dead.
In her heartbeat she hears the drum.
In her breath she discovers the song.
She is the altar.