It is time to return home again
Called back by our ancestors
To the clean poetry of bones

Indeed it is good to be back

A kettle of thirty hawks circling above
Holds the center of creation together
By the will of their great and terrible nature

There is magic in these desert parts
Where there is nothing barren
Only life it has always been alive
Only now we are reawakening to remember

Our succulent hearts open up
Reaching and stretching for the sun
They are resilient yes they are strong
And they will grow together into one hawk

And soar into the center and circle there