Indian Summer Poem by Tobbie WhiteBird Crowe

Is there nothing in my dreaming
but visions of you?
Is there nothing else my eyes
can hope to find;
But vision upon vision
of your memory ever dear.
Is there nothing in my dreaming
but you?

Our forest paths are long overgrown.
The blue cloud moccasins
You made for my feet only,
Lie alone and silent.
Beads missing, leather cracking
Without you, they are only old shoes.

Beaded necklaces
Of shell, coral and sky blue beads,
That your slender brown hands
Taught my fingers to make;
Are but empty circles
Without your presence.

I still braid my hair.
Beads and white feathers tied there in.
But the strains are blond, not your glossy black,
And it is but an empty gesture
Hollow without love
And the nights are long and lonely

Is there nothing in my dreaming
but visions of you?

(1976)