do i dare disturb the universe?

with the tip of my spring tongue, ayîki      frog your mouth will be the web catching apihkêsis words,                           spider a crawling-out ceremony that cannot be translated.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                             Now, speak!

I’ll teach you Cree, nêhiyawêwin                 the Cree language  that is the taste of pimiy êkwa saskarômina                         fat and saskatoon berries Your mouth will be the branches I am picking clean, a summer heat ceremony that cannot be translated.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                              Now, speak!

I’ll teach you Cree in the winter, pipon                                      winter when the dogs curl against our backs. Your mouth will be pawâcakinâsis-pîsim     the frost exploding moon that cannot be translated. It will be a ceremony.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                               Now, speak!

I’ll teach you Cree ê-kohk mistahi ê-sâkihitan.                           because I love you a lot It will be in the fall, this ceremony. You will have the mouth of a beaver, thick and luminescent.

I will make my camp there ê-kohk mistahi ê-sâkihitan.                           because I love you a lot This cannot be translated.

light:

glows when they talk, dewy eyes, radiates with a blessing from the sun, calm in the air and goodness in their hearts

ocean: 

bodies full of stories, a will that ebbs and flows, lazy smiles, no real devotion to anything but existence itself, wordless lullabies

earth: 

minds like caverns, hands like stone, to hold or to hurt, heavy irises, earthquake tempers, stubborn desire for constant reconstruction

poison: