NOWHERE, SOUTH DAKOTA, JANUARY, 1599

So cold, the ice has frozen

almost to the middle of the stream.

So cold my breath made frost

in patches on my sleeping robe.

So cold, I called the dogs

to sleep across my feet.

Now the sun is up, the air is filled

with dancing points of light.

The air is frozen hard, and high above

the hawk is frozen in the sky.

See the horses, tethered in a lake

of frozen grass,

see their smoking backs.

This is not a day to lose.

This is not a day to mend the skins

or fletch, or watch the old men

coax their points from flint.

I will catch my fast mare,

I will point her at the rising sun.

Through the sea of frozen grass

she'll carry me,

through the frozen sparkling air

she'll carry me,

over gentle waves of prairie grass

she'll carry me

with my spirit singing,

Thank you Father, with this Song,

Thank you Mother, with this Song,

May my brothers have this day again

May my sisters have this day again

May my children have this day again

For everlasting.

Tony Martin

3/3/02