These photos are of a memorial to and a burial ground of the Salish Indian Tribe that lived here in Stevensville, Montana. One of the most beautiful and spiritual places I have ever visited. The poem is from my Native American collection.
Cross Fire
Who is she?
This woman child
Who comes in visions
Drifting slowly,
As slips the smoke
From the Candle’s lip.
She runs from
The arms of war
Like a young fawn
Spotted to be invisible.
Yet, I see
Her running to me.
Her shadow becomes
My shadow
In the world, ever changing
With my every
Breath.
An eagle
Circles a warning.
Crossfire…
I feel her soul
Seeping into thought,
Spilling soft around,
Bending ’till it breaks
Like thunder sounds
Above.
I’m caught between
Her coming and my leaving.
I am undone.
She runs
And she runs.
Still, I hold her spirit
In my sleep
Knowing my dreams
Can never be.
I remain the hunter
Of lost moonbeams
Sipping at the edge of rain.
Invincible you think?
Look at me again.
Mark the rain
Where it falls sharp
Against my skin.
I cannot escape
The path of its pain.
Crossfire…
Silent is the heart
That falls in love
With the enemy.
Poetry on Wings 
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