The Death of Akaniki

She is in the Dream World now
where happiness is a warm skin
never to be shed
But let it be known that I grieve
the soft sounds of her bells
from the scaffold dangling
ring my eyes with great sorrow
The Sand Hills are no longer quiet
with her memories
For her I would cut my hair
with jagged strokes
each strand falling, an ache for her loss
For her I will cry
each tear stain holds a story of her
For her I would scrape my skin
my pain that I shall never see her again
This slice of Native America gone cold