If all the days of all the years were made of wine and gold
They’d be present in the light of intelligence in this one dog’s eyes.
This friendship across species — a Buddhist mantra –
Rocks me like a good old boy, befriends me like the sea.
He’ll be with me when the gates fly open —  and the light pours in.
Now we seek out the depths, the shaman-spirits that will be:
Seen, glimpsingly, during the Paiut Wovoka ghost dance;
Spirits drive away every morsel of this dirty money-grabbing massacre
Of everything that be wild, everything that be willful, everything that be free
Wild, wondrous, free: to create resistance to the age of the machines
To the algorithms that manipulate us, behind the scenes.
In this stinking, 'respectable' world of the empty self we resurrect
The unseen perspicacity and prescience that was once the common currency
Of the most illiterate, boorish, free-born, Saxon.