Savage

I am a savage
I haven't lost my spear,
I retained my sweated mask
and my bare feet
they are not hard like rocks
or covered in callouses
or hard skin,
on the contrary.
I am not bereft by
a dead buffalo or my ancestors
I haven't written in a solid stone
any name or date,
I have stopped recounting
tales of faith or history
I dance a little
I eat a little, cultivate
nothing, you won't find
seeds in my pouch or pockets
or inside my mouth.
I am not a ghost,
not either a dead savage,
left outside a bar with an
empty bottle or leaning
against a wall with a syringe
hanging from my arm.
I am glad
I walk on the prairies,
rebuild bird nests
with my empty hands, and
widen the rivers with my hips,
berries that fall into my mouth
as I rest, I swallow whole
and return to sleep.
I am not alone, I am glad
the winter is hard,
and freezes my will to live.
No noise is strange or
threatening to me, no voice tries to
convince me of anything, I don't
hear to be able to see,
I don't pounce
or haul
or keep still
for any reason that
I might recall as I hardly
distinguish my shadow from
my scowl . I Am a savage