Devils Tower
I sleep in the shadow
of the holy giant whose
transfixed spires hold prairie
above prairie, safe from licking
flames that devour stem and stalk
below. Rock doves, like secrets, spill
from its cliffs into the dusk, catch in the
palm of an updraft and soar. Roots in
vertical crevices hold fast, bloom and grow
where no hand or foot finds anchor. Bright
prayer-rags tremble and tobacco pouches dangle
like clustered berries from branches - offerings
to the giant, whose sacredness falls in long blue
threads. In its shadow I am a slender blade of
grass on this rolling orb. Fuel for wind and fire to
consume. Ashes to feed something green atop her bouldered crown.
~Karen-lisa Krueger