Shaman

In the upper reaches,
a dark and brooding face
of unspoiled nature
in silhouette, looking askance
looking a far, not directly at me.

I study without trepidation,
whatever it is,
whatever it's gender,
whatever its origin,
high in the branches.

In bending forest branches
from my second floor, I see.
My midnight soul of window.
My ravaged, salvaged inner sanctum
The face in me...one tribe, one intonation.

The Court of Crow tried to demolish this realm.
My ancestral spirits warred against their filmy mouths
Their shed skins we defeated in stealth and open combat.
I did, I did --- I survived the Inquisition
Bagpipe against imperial cannons.