A Dream Comes Floating
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We are at the junction of the Little River and the Ottawa River,
journeying into the Canadian wilderness by canoe, the
paddles stroke slowly into the water, paddles heavily incised
with vines and flowers, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue.
Spirit, is a native man in a crisp white shirt, his head shaved
but for one braid with feathers, his blue leggings enthrall
me, intricate beaded moccasins are sublime, his leather
pouch and glass jewelry lovely, I think I love him . . .
Falcon, a beautiful man with raven hair falling down his back,
his feathers are fluttering in the wind, he has dangling earrings,
a red cape edged with gold threads, his beads are exquisite,
and he is telling me stories and smiling at me . . .
I could love him, and I am dipping my hair into the deep blue.
O, how can this Ojibwa girl choose, I love them both . . .
I truly do, but luckily for me this is a dream and I can love both.
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December 10, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/A Dream Comes Floating
Copyright Protected, ID 12-441-915-10
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
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