Sequoya

When I live again,

I'll plant my syllabraries
on a hill and let them sweep
heaven for another 2000 years;

be a thorn
in the foot of Hephaestus
or Artemis or Zeus,

any one of those hedonists
who prop
their feet on the sun;

shade the trail
for Guadalupe Hildalgo
sneak drinks
from the Chetco river.

I'd name myself Sequoya;
be sentinel
for spots of owls,
and Murrelet's marbles;

become the core
of a Sparrow's Eye.