Port Townsend

Over the fireplace hangs a Kwakiutl sun mask,
Two Haida rattles and a Chilkat blanket,
Like an old Indian whispering cedar stories.

Two ferryboats cross the channel.
An eagle is chased off its perch by a sparrow hawk.

I think about my father, the Roman nose.
And wonder if he is dying, or if anyone dies?
The Great Spirit is dreaming its dream through us.