Seeunsee

Seeunsee

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The ghosts on the highway

From Hays to Ft. Belknap

Still live. The creeks

Hold them, Three Mile,

Peoples Creek, Thirty Mile.

The fire lookout atop Three Buttes

Long-ago crumbled into the dust,

But the ghosts still roam

This land where stones starve.

Wild Horse holds whispers, listen.

Entire families afoot, in wagons,

Burned out husks of cars. Buffalo

Shadows run the windy grasses.

Bones rain down in circles.

Once you see them, you cannot

Un-see them. See. Un-see.

See. Unsee.  Seeunsee.

Seeunsee. A chant. A ceremony. 

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