Awaking from his sleep he arose in the night, and
Stepped outside onto the porch to cool himself, and
From this vantage saw a warrior Indian
Standing near to the yellowing Tamarack tree in the yard.
The warrior was silent like the sound of the sun, yet was
Swinging a hatchet that dripped with blood and bone, and
Wearing a simple loincloth, and ornate red-orange headdress.
The man was too afraid to stare at the warrior for long,
For fear that he would be attacked and scalped, but
Before he could look away the Indian turned ‘round and
Slowly crawled under the low branches of the Tamarack.
Once under the tree the warrior sat, and
Smiled a concerning smile at the man, and
Slowly disappeared like déjà vu fading back into normality.