talk to the hills
               lose your extravagance
         lie down in the horsemint and sage
                                           grass is a window, look through it

                                          choose sentences carefully, pace yourself
the story is long, see how attentive these smiling bones have become
                                                                                 tell them a good one

there is nothing so wonderful as to be heard to the very end
            of what you needed to say
                                                                               and the silence afterward
                                                  the sigh that comes up the valley
                                                                                                    that is applause

Whistling Swans

Child brought to reeds
hear the black-billed swans, white
as April ends
your pale neck trembles
sun begins to climb
a hard light fills our dreams
its clamour smashes nest
and shell

© Bruce Rice
Regina, Saskatchewan
Treaty 4 Territory and Homeland of the Metis