Slit-eyed chief He-Who-Drinks-From-Source
Subduedly tunes up the antique lament. At once
The Long Walk revives. Dancing spirits of smoke
Exhale from fires spread across the venue.

Sort of a privileged intruder—now I too can
Perceive the raped earth’s wail. Vacant-looking
Faces transmit memories and deliver places’
Quiddity. Being native slithers into me.

Sand smoothes as thin black tongues pass over
Against purple-blue beyond the Agathla. Buttes
Majestically release their silence from afar. Puffs
Make scattered rabbit bushes seem alive.

Hospitality serves sacrality. Celebrated homeland
Thanks by cuddling powwowed dusk. Valley’s
Rocks exude reconciliation throughout. Three
Hundred miles away ghosts exit Bosque Redondo.