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| Ve VAŠEM prostoru redakce Totemu nezodpovídá za obsah jednotlivých příspěvků. |
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our last evening together was falling
on the grater of a backroad
in the Fort Hall Reservation
our wheels were slipping
in some two inches of the fine dust
and the western burial grounds
were calling their song
about broken Bannock people
left down by the road of a civilization
which was not theirs
choking on the sagebrush dust
under the dome of the sky
which was stolen from them
sitting in the old creaky cars
behind the cracked and dusty windshields
and helplessly waiting for the next Geronimo
knowing that he will never come
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Cizojazyčný koutek
