We've dug a well around each tree
to hold water
from clouds that will marry
make love and send rain.

Make love and send rain
and open the dry red earth.

We press seeds into shallow furrows
corn, squash and beans
lay down together.
Wait for the planting songs
Of our ancestors

The planting songs of our ancestors
are star songs sung by grandmothers.

They fling their voices across the milky way
whisper to the cool desert night
coax the seed to stir
expand and burst open.

Expand and burst open.
Three sisters sent from the Pleiades
sustain us in spite of
global warfare.

Global warfare
cannot compete
with new corn
in our lives.