Premonition

Once, in the sweep of prairie,

they heard the wind, the eternal one’s scratchy voice

whisper through dried blades, rattle

desiccated husks. They waited for red skies,

rocks to speak long shadows, black words telling them

the days are short, you must go

south to the shelter of Cottonwoods and Willows,

on the banks of the river that flows lazy

like the tail of a grazing pony.

At night, the star’s bright music

directed the heart’s quiet drum beat

under sky bears,

Standing Rock to Rosebud,

Orion showered arrows
across the Milky Way, 

a sign,
birch skinned beasts

will be heaped upon the earth

like piles of dung,

shape-shifters,
not bear, buffalo, pronghorn, wolf,
never satisfied, always hungry,
always wanting more.
'Who are they?', one asked.
'When will they come?'
The Sky Reader turned
her eyes to Taurus,
cackled at the glow of Pleiades.
'Make Death your friend.
The only thing certain
is the coming
of snow.'