Mesa Verde
The earth is salmon-colored here, cracked
into plates like the shell of a giant turtle
It is a place I’ve seen in a dream.
Our faces tingle with the heat of sun,
the fiery way we look at one another,
When we drive down the steep road
back to the highway, you stop
the car so I can gather a stalk of some
rosy blossom, unknown, unidentified,
Your hands gently cup the waxy petals,
fingertips outlining leaves as if you know
how to stroke color and scent, coax forth
a name like a blood secret. The aroma
of honey, nectar, hangs in dry air.
Tiny gold ants crawl on the hairy stem,
seek the deep center, enter it.
As we drive on, I leave the branch behind.
The ants will find their way home carrying
a burden so sweet it needs no name,
a story to tell about being taken up,
removed, finding the intricate paths back.
~~~~~~~~~~~
A poem by Rex Lee Jim, Diné,
revered poet and citizen of the Navajo Nation.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Photo Source: Great Basin Seed
