The roof was moist,
As I lay there in a wet pool,
(A curse on thee, ye olde
Inventor of the New Mexico
Pueblo-style flat roof)
I was talking with angels,
Bouncing ideas off the firmament,
When she stepped through clouds,
Piercing the ebony solstice sky.
Stargazing is a full-time occupation;
The Navajo Nation sure is quiet tonight.