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Sometimes when I am desperate and really afraid

I ask my ancestors to help me


I put feathers on my letters so they travel quicker to the sub world

I burn money and incense


My grandfather told me ashes taste like ice cream in heaven

and every wish or fear you have

must be shared with those who came before you


Burning your thoughts to them is like watering the soil of a farmer's field

All the work from the winter

burst in the spring

dies in the fall

and reenacts itself


The bad seeds get eaten by birds

The bad birds dry up in the sun

Eaten by the earth's foremost beasts


When my letters reach the top of the tree My ancestors send me a sign

I hear the words from the wind

I smell the words from the past

and Forget



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