On the Rim
Canyon de Chelly
lifts rusty
throated cliff
into syllables of the sky. A hundred
southwesterly
voices rise
with ancient chant
rippling
sheep and goat bells
And the boy herding
calls Navaho from the river
twining dead brush
into spring
on the floor of the canyon.
From weather sculpting
and brimming walls
of the canyon, the Indian ruins
re--form, loosen
a blessing of old feet
into the air
and swallows slip from their wings
a rain song.
Out of red dust
the bones of a farmer
listen
from the drought felt deep
in the walked and shifting kiva.
Canyon de Chelly
lifts rusty
throated cliff
into syllables of the sky. A hundred
southwesterly
voices rise
with ancient chant
rippling
sheep and goat bells
And the boy herding
calls Navaho from the river
twining dead brush
into spring
on the floor of the canyon.
From weather sculpting
and brimming walls
of the canyon, the Indian ruins
re--form, loosen
a blessing of old feet
into the air
and swallows slip from their wings
a rain song.
Out of red dust
the bones of a farmer
listen
from the drought felt deep
in the walked and shifting kiva.
| Slide over photo to also see the herds on the canyon floor |