poetry by red hawk

DREAMING WITH THE STONE

Round, smooth, flat, black stone, it came
from the Buffalo River, upstream from
all the little towns gathered at the river’s edge

like pilgrims lined up to be baptized.
i hold it in my hand at night while i sleep,
the way the preacher holds their heads as he

plunges them backwards into the cold water and
they come up river-haunted,
spewing out the language of river stones,

which are accustomed to complete submersion
so they are able to lead us through our dreaming
without being taken by the current or caught

in the maelstrom of the mind’s maneuvering.
In this way the Anasazi trained the Attention
of their young so that it could lay

untroubled in the depths, not captured
by dreams on the surface and consumed
as a winged creature is taken by a brown trout