In the pause before you speak
On the dignity of gestures
An allegory in which there are politicians and false promises
About standing (in kinship)
The way we love something small: In deepest winter
Here we begin with gesture
The way we love something small: Vowel sounds from a land
II. The where in my belly
Songs like bread: Wiikwandiwin
Found recipe, Mikinaak Dibaajimowin
A water poem for remembering
The way we love something small: In the wake of bare
The ways we practice Mino-bimaadixiwin
The way we love something small: A wetland filled
Mashkiki, this medicine earth
III. Alaskan poems you didn't write
Dream of birch-winged eagles
my journal records the vestiture of doppelgangers
The way we love something small: In the cold blur hour of winter
The way we love something small: Window open to Mahnomen night
The knife my father gave me at eight
Indian baby in front of an Indian bldg., Albuquerque, NM
The way we love something small: Sun through lace spills delicate
How love balances on each precipice
This small curtained space
The way we love something small: Pause before the mirrored gray
As if my now gloved hands were secrets
Prayer in the wake of transience
IV. The way we love something small: In the shadow of moons
If scintilla is a flowering luminous as night
The way we love something small: Translucent claws of newborn mice
Another poem in which I watch
Waaban: ancient light enters
Crane curves of this woodland sky
Dibiki-giizis: cameo in which heron fills moon
Of poetry and the making of lines
A love poem to common arrowhead
The way we love something small: Inky leaf shadows on snow
sub-imago (shedding names)
