Pull off at the next exit
and take the gravel road
into the dappled green nothing,
where life eligua’lat drips down
as slow as deep time.

Breathe heavy the
humid air; it carries promise
like shed plumage. Trace
hope in dirt, fern and fossil.
Watch as hours sprout scales:
stoqonamu’gl, they are fir
tree colored.

Lightning-eyed deer
cross creeks, scatter whispers
across uneasy terrain
as threaded bioluminescence of
milamu’gl, many colors
untangles trees
and blooms leaves.
Clouds into moonlight carry fire
into indigo, give birth quietly.

But—there is violence here. In petal,
pistil, the shining sap that
wapnintoq sings until dawn.
Let’s witness the night ablaze
with birdcalls. Like us, the
jasmine won’t sleep.
It will only bloom.

© 2023 Tiffany Morris