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The old Crow Chief, dejected and weary, in a dark forest, with fog so dreary
cross-legged and contemplating if the apparition was simply lore,
thoughtfully he sat – almost napping, owl’s wings in branches flapping,
the morning sun – night unwrapping, bringing mountains to the fore.
“It is time for the apparition” he uttered, “Appear now – damn it” he swore,
“Only this I ask, and nothing more.”

As he sat watching a dying ember, nowhere near a Crow tribe member,
Chief every day growing more slender, something appeared above the lake’s floor,
walking straighter than an arrow, on the watery path so narrow,
simulacrum of the spirit Song Sparrow, Chief had found his lost Apparition,
with the singular resplendent cognition, whom the angels named Jesus, 
the Son who is androgenesis, this and SOMETHING MORE.

And the quivering of the hemlock’s purple curtain, made the chief suddenly certain,
delighted Chief, filled him with hope he felt before;
He sat there – heart beating, those joyful words repeating,
“This Spiritual Visitor is greeting, this old chief at death’s door.
This morning Visitor is completing, the wish that I had hoped for;
This it is, and nothing more.”

Now the Chief grew stronger; and fearful was he no longer,
“Spirit!” spoke the Chief, “or Prophet, your mercy I implore;
The lake’s waves were slapping, and you have caught me napping,
not so faintly waves came slapping, slapping at the lake’s shore,
many nights I waited for you, waiting at my teepee’s door;
You not there — not there — and nothing more.”

“For many moons peering, long I sat cross legged; fearing,
never doubting, facing accusations, no Crow Chief was accused of before;
my belief in You was unbroken, and my Crow braves gave no token,
harsh words have been spoken, it was said that you were only lore,
but in You I cried out, ‘I believe’ the echoes cried ‘I believe’,
only that, and nothing more.”

“On me all the Crows were turning, with hatred for me burning,
my only friends were these waves slapping somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely,’ I cried, ‘surely there is something beyond the hemlock lattice;’
let me see it then, and what there at is, and Your Mystery explore,
allow my Crow people to believe and Your Mystery adore;
allow them to believe and nothing more!”

“Let them clean out disbelief and clutter, allow their hearts to flutter,
may the Badland Spirits; evil beliefs – of the ages so long before;
never again a Wolf Spirit be; may my Crow People clearly see,
when I tell the truth of You, walking above the lake’s watery floor,
as they sit, in a truth-circle, outside my teepee’s door
believing – and sitting – nothing more.”

Then the Crow Braves now beguiling, changed his sad face into smiling,
the old Crow Chief could not hide the happy countenance he wore,
the Crow Braves no longer craven, in the Lake Walker found a haven,
grim and ancient spirits forsaken, left to wander on forgotten shore,
what, additionally, could the old Crow Chief have asked for? –
only that; and nothing more.




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