The Ghosts That Won't Grow Old

The river remembers, remembers what we cannot hold,

Ashes in the wind burn under the sky,

My hands claw at ghosts, claw at ghosts that won't grow old.

.............

The cedars wept when the fire turned bold,

Their smoke rising where our ancestors lie,

The river remembers, remembers what we cannot hold.

.............

I trace the scars in the earth, stories told, stories told,

Blood in the soil, a fury that will not die,

My hands claw at ghosts, claw at ghosts that won't grow old.

.............

I howl at the moon, its silver cold,

Mocking the oath that promised we'd not cry,

The river remembers, remembers what we cannot hold.

.............

Each stone remembers, remembers what our tongues withhold,

Our songs snatched, our children's lullaby,

My hands claw at ghosts, claw at ghosts that won't grow old.

............

I burn, I bleed, and yet my soul is sold,

To rivers, to fires, to the endless sky.

The river remembers, remembers what we cannot hold,

My hands claw at ghosts, claw at ghosts that won't grow old.