He had only ever known

The dark side of the moon

Absolute zero his home

A continual state of gloom

He was but a mote 

And she a mighty titan

His heart was smote

But how life did brighten

She stole fire from Zeus

A passion’s mighty flame

She became his muse

And He offered her his name

Some things are meant to be 

And others are not

She and flame went from he

But smothers naught

For though Promethium left

She certainly left her mark

Love’s half life a premium bereft

Radioactivity’s a deadly spark

Lucky for him he’ll be okay

And wrap himself in love’s putrefaction 

Because he’s not afraid of decay

As it’s an exothermic reaction



You think you’re beautiful now

But you were beautiful then

You felt insignificant

A single grain of sand on a beach

I leaned in and tried to count your facets

Step out of the shade and into the light

Squinting I counted them one by one

I gave you my strength which you took

You propped yourself up for another

You imagine he’s made you beautiful

You consider yourself grown because of him

You think yourself the perfect partner

You were always beautiful and perfect

Your growth is a smoothing out of your edges

You’ve covered yourself in paint and pillows

Adept at avoiding the eggshells 

He enveloped you, hiding you away

Control is not caring

Love shouldn’t be a labor

When you no longer satisfied his ego

He spit you out and moved on

Take off the pillows, wash off the paint

Bathe in a tub of vinegar

From pearl back to a grain of sand

Take my strength even if for another



A flash of lightning 

In a state of entropy 

The mind digs

It cradles the amber

Boring to the center

The rock candy blood

Of a cobwebbed understanding 

Mixed with cerebrospinal fluid

Spun around the mind

With centrifugal force

The DNA mapped

An intersection of similarity 

A ‘what if?’ moment

A graft taken hold

A tree of 40 fruit grows

The lightening is gone

Thunder rattles the windows


We are won, when we are one

Second verse, same as the universe

Shared consciousness from a unified source 

Sheared from subconscious the rarified voice

Conservation of matter: 

recycle, reuse…reduce

Preservation matters: 

empathy, sympathy…compassion 

Sharing the same mind like the many facets on a beautiful gemstone, that looks like the universe observed from the nil-space beyond.


Yup’ik: nevluk (clinging particles)

50 words for different kinds of snow

Granular, fine, crusty, blowing…

50 words for love I know

You’ve given to me in the showing

A palette of mixed hues

Crimson to egg shell blues

I use the various colors of paint that you’ve given me

Somewhere between warmth, acceptance and family

I feel the outer surface of the new word ‘love’ but can’t read it

The definition is crystal clear, perhaps it’s meant to precede it

Careful in the birthing of this new word I simply cannot misspell 

From my heart it’s bursting, as the word you’ve given me is D-A-N-Y-E-L!


[The picture is of my grandmother, who went from being an adorable, little Mohawk baby to one of the most beautiful, strong, resilient women I have had the honor of knowing.] 

Wounds so deep we carry them in our DNA

First Nation babies ripped from their families

Placed in catholic run boarding schools 

Beaten for speaking with their mother’s tongue

Raped, murdered and buried in mass graves

Beneath a plot of land that now holds title to my pain

In deed–ownership claimed

These “savage” children of the wild

How can they wholly know what’s right for them?

Without baptism by genocide being the holy rite for them?

I don’t carry the tongue as I am a child of relocation

But I feel the sorrow in my marrow and I cry

I cry at the very sight of my grandmother’s picture

I miss her like I miss being able to speak Mohawk

But I am proud to be her grandson…to carry on

I don’t do rosaries like she did at 6am

I walked away from the church the day she said she was unworthy of the host

If she was unworthy what chance do we all have?

The host! We are the host! This is/was/should be OUR home

I’ll find peace within myself, while you paint your face red for your football game

I’ll find peace within myself, while you run the black snake through tribal lands

I’ll find peace within myself, when the day comes I can hug all my missing cousins and tell them they’re loved. They’re loved. THEY ARE LOVED!

[“Good enough for the Indians,” my grandma would say on many occasions, to mean that we should be happy with what we have, as this is our lot in life.]

Take me to church

To connect I look for the well-worn path

It leads me down the center aisle

The trees stand as proud parishioners

The stumps serve as pews ready to receive me

The earthy smell is my incense

I breathe in the gift and give it back

A homeostatic symbiosis, singularity obtained

The wild animals are my brethren

They look at me with welcome understanding

The backlit canopy is my stained-glass window

The offering plate holds only love and promises of protection

Money doesn’t grow from trees

It’s made from their corpses

The mother suffers tremendously from man’s pursuit of it

The very fact that it’s green is blasphemous!

I come here to feel connected

I try to regain DNA’s memory

From ancestors that walked the path first

To remember what is real

To find my roots

I must dig

Bare hands