We were running out of breath, as we ran out to meet ourselves. We

Were surfacing the edge of our ancestors’ fights, and ready to Strike.

It was difficult to lose days in the Indian bar if you were Straight.

Easy if you played pool and drank to remember to forget. We

Made plans to be professional—and did. And some of us could Sing

When we drove to the edge of the mountains, with a drum. We

Made sense of our beautiful crazed lives under the starry stars. Sin

Was invented by the Christians, as was the Devil, we sang. We

Were the heathens, but needed to be saved from them: Thin

Chance. We knew we were all related in this story, a little Gin

Will clarify the dark, and make us all feel like dancing. We

Had something to do with the origins of blues and jazz

I argued with the music as I filled the jukebox with dimes in June,

Forty years later and we still want justice. We are still America. We.

To pray you open your whole self

To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon

To one whole voice that is you.

And know there is more

That you can't see, can't hear,

Can't know except in moments

Steadily growing, and in languages

That aren't always sound but other

Circles of motion.

Like eagle that Sunday morning

Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky

In wind, swept our hearts clean

With sacred wings.

We see you, see ourselves and know

That we must take the utmost care

And kindness in all things.

Breathe in, knowing we are made of

All this, and breathe, knowing

We are truly blessed because we

Were born, and die soon within a

True circle of motion, 

Like eagle rounding out the morning

Inside us. 

We pray that it will be done

In beauty.

In beauty.