Dancing on the Steps of Coffman....

All Night They Are Dancing

[In prowling around for photos on a collection of jump drives, I found some old poems I wrote back when I lived in Minneapolis.  I'll start with this one.  I was in my Native American poetry phase, and I loved their cadence.]

All night they are dancing on the steps of Coffman
All night the nations are dancing on the steps of Coffman

Homely boy is dancing
Filled with grace,
Wheeling like a gull behind a tractor.

Old Asian man is dancing
Filled with light
Light his steps and light
The space between
His elbows and knees,
Pumping up and down
Like puppet limbs.

Old Asian man is dancing
With old Caucasian woman.
She wears a red raincoat. 
She wears a plaid hat.
She is lovely, old Caucasian woman.
Her oxfords carry her ancient feet like chariots.

Beautiful people are dancing
On the steps of Coffman
Adorned in costly shirts and cutoffs
On the steps of Coffman.

Their hair is richly plaited
Their hair is dyed bright red and black and yellow.

The married couples are dancing.
In ecstasy they are dancing, making one
Out of self they are dancing.
Out of breath they are dancing.
They pinch each other’s behinds as they pass.

Like a wind that winds among the cottonwoods
The people are dancing.
Like leaves of the cottonwood they bow to each other
Like leaves of the sacred tree they make
Holy space between them.

Gentle are the faces they show to one another.
Kindly and fine are the patterns they make.

In dignity and beauty they are dancing
In joy and enthusiasm the people are dancing.

Music sounds from the steps of Coffman
An old dog wears a red bandanna.

The people are awaiting heaven—
The people are creating heaven.