These days
I drink from many bowls
One made of copper
And one made of silver
One made from clay
And another from long grass
There are bowls made of corn leaves
And bowls of red willow
Bowls of the tree bark
And bowls that to some
Look like holes in the Earth
This long cattail straw
Is a wet inhalation
A bowl full of smoke
Is different from a bowl of ash
A bowl of berry juice
Is not the same as a bowl of trout intestines
Sometimes it’s a great lake that fits inside a bowl
At first light the deer arrive
And dip their noses into their own reflection
I cup my hands to make a bowl
