you’re blind
            or someone is
and you are singing
            a battle
an old one or maybe one
  about to be fought
            for peace
there are horns honking
            trees broken
an exhausted winter light
            this can’t be good
  but the song is
               the meter
formal              compelling
the names of the principals
       clanging a challenge
the noise tears at the heart
 I have to stop
   stop here in the middle
           of the mess
         I can’t even hear myself think
O, Daughters of Buffalo,
on the left     on the right
you have been my friends
my teachers my sisters
I am confused, dark-hearted, infinitely tired
of fighting                    and I won’t fight you
bring all your reason to bear
                        if you must
but reason explodes on the plains of battle
only the song holds shape        keeps me
                        from deserting
S. Robbins

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