At the third world's first sun,
the Anasazi climbed
through a narrow Sipapu
and pressed footprints in the dust
of a new unspoiled universe.

In secluded canyon hollows
watered by softly chanting springs,
they piled rocks upon stones
shaping vast adobe cities
mortared with pastes of moistened clay.

At Mesa Verde - Chaco - de Chelly
fields of maize sway,
brushed by the canyon winds
while Pueblos danced in the plazas below
to the throbbing beats
of skin-stretched hollow log drums.

Today their children’s children
circle fire pits in sacred Kivas
raising chants and prayers
to their hallowed ancestors.

Wearied by famine and conquest,
Pueblo eyes scan the heavens
searching for a new Sipapu
to lead them to a better world still.

September 11, 2006

For Nat Lipstadt

In response to Nat's deeply moving poem that included me, I now dedicate this 2007 poem to Nat, who I am sure, knows exactly what it means.

               
She smiled as she
set her lips into
most agreeable motion -
her larynx flexing to
modulate the passing air.

The sequenced air waves
shook my auric drums
and journeyed to my soul.

Out of my reservoir
of ritual response
my lower face
turned a congenial curve.

Two puffs of air
pulsed my vocal folds,
were filtered
by my tongue and lips
and formed a sonic pattern
she was sure to know,

“Thank you.”

December, 2007

Yellow horizon
Sunflower fields gently sway
just beyond the crest.

The whole earth resounds
     With the exuberant songs
of nature’s majestic harmony.

And sways to the steady pulse
     of all that breathes and roams the land,
That inhabits the rushing brooks
     Or soars through borderless skies,
Of every seedling, flower and chrysalis.
     And every newborn calf and golden field.
All that rise to greet the sun
     Intone their festal hymns
To nature’s exultant harmony.

The boundless wonders of nature’s realm
     Sustain our spirits and illumine our paths
With wisdom taught by the lakes and mountains
     And solace sung by the forests and plains.
So with steady and transfigured hearts,
     we forge our trails through hallowed land.

When the sun has run its daily course
     and twilight claims the fading light,
we offer thanks for the nascent moon
     and the radiant star-jeweled night -
tuning our faith and aspirations
     to the music of the spheres.

The whole earth resounds
     with the exuberant songs
of nature’s majestic harmony

I sliced a fresh banana today
          alone at my kitchen counter.

I drew a common table knife
         and carved a slender yellow disc
that lingered on the blade.

The next disc drove it off the knife
          and down to the cereal below.  

Soon the banana was all partitioned
          and the Cheerios mostly masked.
I popped the heel in my mouth.

  Childhood memories crackle
          like a radio slightly off its station
                and I can almost hear mom
         talking softly as she slices -

   I am barely listening.
         My left hand holds an imaginary banana
               while my right hand maneuvers
         a non-existent knife.

How strange the knife I held so real
         yet the shade of mom merely conjured -
far too strange to truly believe.