The Mask of Four
Indistinguishable Thunderstorms

by
Ray A. Young Bear

It is the thunderstorm
                                          at first
that begins speaking
                      from an easterly direction
We listen to its vociferous
                                          non-threatening
voice and fall asleep
This weather doesn't care
                                          to know itself
our inner physical journals
record
We conclude icy rain is no different
                      than wet branch-breaking
snow and the summer deluge
                                          that stretches
toward autumn combines all into one
                       haunting answer
that of a wintry inevitability
                                          glazed ice
over the terrain

Before awakening we hear clouds
that quietly explode
                      from within
Watery moonlit fragments hit
                                          the roof
                      saying: in the case of anger
fist-sized hail would splinter
                                           everything
The woodlands horizon
is therefore portrayed as a jagged
                      lavender line
and encircled in yellow
                                          obviously
is the sun
                      reducing humankind
to spherical dimensions
                                          making
known the presence
of duality
that Black Hummingbirds
are saviors as well as
assassins

Grandmother Earth
sits with her bare razor-nicked
back towards you
                                          the observer
the would-be infringer
                      the one who taps out
salvation messages with a silver
surgical instrument
Her daughter's precious son
                      she recognizes
but the blood-letting is deceptive
What was supposed
                                          to be seasonal
self-purification appears through
                      ultrasound
as a protoplasmic thorn
carved with indecipherable
                                          petroglyphs

We swear nothing is apocalyptic
while garish beacons from
                      the tribal gaming complex
create apparitions
in the sky
Balanced on top a floating mass
                      of ourselves
under the guidance of an ochre
                                          seal-eyed
word-collector in a tight
flannel shirt
                      hole-ridden jeans
and Presbyterian church-donated
                      shoes
we cradle fine shovels
that are designed to slice
                      the earth
leaving behind rectangular-
                      shaped markings
of a former industrious
society

© 1997 Ray A. Young Bear
Reprinted from Witness, XI(2), 137-8, 1997.

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	It is the thunderstorm at first that begins speaking from an easterly direction We listen to its vociferous non-threatening voice and fall asleep This weather doesn't care to know itself our inner physical journals record We conclude icy rain is no different than wet branch-breaking snow and the summer deluge that stretches toward autumn combines all into one haunting answer that of a wintry inevitability glazed ice over the terrain
	Before awakening we hear clouds that quietly explode from within Watery moonlit fragments hit the roof saying: in the case of anger fist-sized hail would splinter everything The woodlands horizon is therefore portrayed as a jagged lavender line and encircled in yellow obviously is the sun reducing humankind to spherical dimensions making known the presence of duality that Black Hummingbirds are saviors as well as assassins
	Grandmother Earth sits with her bare razor-nicked back towards you the observer the would-be infringer the one who taps out salvation messages with a silver surgical instrument Her daughter's precious son she recognizes but the blood-letting is deceptive What was supposed to be seasonal self-purification appears through ultrasound as a protoplasmic thorn carved with indecipherable petroglyphs
	We swear nothing is apocalyptic while garish beacons from the tribal gaming complex create apparitions in the sky Balanced on top a floating mass of ourselves under the guidance of an ochre seal-eyed word-collector in a tight flannel shirt hole-ridden jeans and Presbyterian church-donated shoes we cradle fine shovels that are designed to slice the earth leaving behind rectangular- shaped markings of a former industrious society

The Mask of Four Indistinguishable Thunderstorms

The Mask of Four
Indistinguishable Thunderstorms