Ancient Pueblos
I walked across the sands
in silence, alone;
the sun’s heat elongated
my shadow,
reminding me the journey was torturous.
I follow the dry riverbed
leading me to the ancient pueblo, Halona
and its ghost,
my ancestors.
Even before the pueblo thrived,
the People planted corn.
raised rabbits and sheep;
danced around the Kiva’s fire,
and told their origin stories.
As the wind blew, I saw ghosts
chasing Coyote,
while listening to Kokopelli’s flute
that whistled through the mesas.
Long, long, long ago
my ancient ancestors
knew the importance, and
nature of balance;
knew the way wind blew and
influenced the river’s flow.
My ancestors vanished
long before the White Man came.
Perhaps they knew what was coming,
the imbalance.
Though sometimes at night,
ancient ghosts roam,
as the wind blows their anger
through the mesa;
the Moon rises,
its beams reflect off pottery shards,
scattered near the Kiva;
whirlwinds kick up dust
as Kokopelli’s flute can occasionally be heard,
and Coyote barks and yelps at the Moon.
Now……
Nothing……
Not even the air,
is the same.
Aztec Warrior/redzone 10.12.19
