March Cusp
John Salter

In Indian Country
snow dusts the ridges
As violets slip into the grass
their faces shy as children 
Watching for the first time this season we call
After Winter

A mother owl
eyes hooded in brooding
Touches her breast to the cool smooth promise

Changes move to and fro in the dance
Sliding across the land
like a woman’s tongue across her lips
Waking slowly to her lover’s  touch

Rivers
Geba Greenberg

black stones covered w/lichen
line banks of clear river
runs through my heart
like old messages from another time
pulling me back along side of rich dark earth
growing green and lush
rain comes often here big flowers droop
necks heavy w/holding such beauty
tears fall from sky formlessly
filling rivulets creeks rivers
eventually flowing to oceans
similar to the jade green Salmon River
winding through my mind
into dark brow Klamath
out to Pacific Ocean
always sound song music
fish jumping osprey cries
draws me back to beginnings
amniotic fluid surrounds us all
carrying dreams of timeless oneness
so often broken at birth
big splash into sight out of night
separation from mother womb earth
no going back
only flowing down river into the sea
evaporation becomes clouds
returns to mountain tops as falling snow
Xalapa, Mexico  October 2003