Originally posted in May, 2018. Resonating with the current moment.

Events since cause me to reflect anew on the beauty and sorrow, the potential and corruption, the vast contrasts, in the land of our next-door neighbours.

Goodnight America

Never shall he have the rockstar fable —
Exaltation, degradation, rehabilitation. Never 
will he know heel click New York 
concrete, light all night
And all those codes, spooned, 
by which the chosen are called.


He shall not feel himself 
responsible for his women, his 
cattle, his car, nor shall he hide 
his mourning for the broken land’s scars.

His eyes will not behold the huddled 
hungry mass of bottom lines 
collateral, he shall not pass them by averted, to dark vigilance 
surrendered, and his days numbered like an empty bank account.

He shall instead ally 
himself to panther, wolf and manatee 
and weep in frank humility 
until they take him in; he shall 
be acknowledged kin. 

Waking, heal the waters, serve 
the circle, follow the grandmothers, then
he will know the stars, their glory breathing, abide 
by the principle of peace that swears 
first hospitality not grudged nor judging, open-handed. 

Until then, in cities his wards will keep drawing 
knives across their tender wrists making
sacramental bracelets 
and I shall comfort them. 

Good Night, Amerika.

When he shall touch the heart of me, 
I shall be his land for the holding, 
I shall be the promise embodied - Turtle Island 

Goodnight. 

This is Turtle Island.
This is your Turtle Island

Good night America
You are welcome home 
To Turtle Island. 

This is the ‘rough edit’ … I’ve since re-recorded the sound, though I’ve yet to re-create the video with the new sound. Maybe this is the time for that.

Small note per end credits: This poem, in the end, is not included in For the Changing Moon: Poems and Songs, 2018.