“The Silver Apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun.”
W. B. Yeats
American Indigenous Berserk
Passing cultures
And I thought
I’m vanishing
With flowering stream of consciousness
Down river
The pumpkin patch’s shadows are
Just Moon songs in the morning
The painting’s that cease to be visible
A hidden apple tree
Beyond
Pre settlement petroglyph of a beast
As the sun reigns
A buffalo nation returns
The moon
With golden apples for the horses
All four grasses
In all directions
No offense to anyone, but, this is such a powerful piece to me that I could give a damn about the punctuation. This is beautiful, Jim!
"I have mostly learned from reading a bunch" - me too. You have learned much for you write well and your imaginary excursions into the past must be, I think, a fertile ground for more poems.
Take care. Stay safe.