a poem for the people

With feet deep in the earth

and souls guarded by the angels,
we climb the stairs
formed by silhouettes of
cloud forest.

In the shadow of the mountain
we bury our forgotten dreams,
worlds that would have been.
Rain falls and tears and sweat.
Corn grows, beans, and squash.
The three sisters with faces to the sun
feed the people, so that
this world may continue and dream on.

Swallows carry seeds across the valley:
the voices of our ancestors;
the hopes of our children.
We work from birth until death.
And we sleep, and we listen, and we live.