When I face north a lost Cree br on some new shore puts a moccasin down, br rock in the light and noon for seeing, br he in a hurry and I beside him br br It will be a long trip; he will be a new chief; br we have drunk new water from an unnamed stream; br under little dark trees he is to find a path br we both must travel because we have met. br br Henceforth we gesture even by waiting; br there is a grain of sand on his knifeblade br so small he blows it and while his breathing br darkens the steel his become set br br And start a new vision: the rest of his life. br We will mean what he does. Back of this page br the path turns north. We are looking for a sign. br Our moccasins do not mark the ground.