The grapes around my waist make a belt of wine
shaded in the summer by the vines
Lo and behold come hold me
child in the dust beaten by the sun until
your mind rusts
never your heart!
Your heart is covered
highlighted
swallowed by the halo
your grace takes over
and makes all graves full
and never hollow
Allow me to recognize this bounty
this fruitful handful count me in
to the harvest moon so full
and hanging
guiding the ships at night
across the waters
Did you ransom off your stolen daughters?
Pawn the wallets of your sons?
I had pride, once, a long time ago
but the cowboys
made me run.
Indian.
Sun.
Photo by demi huang on Unsplash