As plaintive tones from a distant flute drifted across the mesa valley the sun over Spruce Tree House began its descent toward dusk.
Above the courtyard, Anasazi masons plaster-sealed the final stones on the great cylindrical tower. Collisions of mano and metate echoed across the canyon as women crushed dried kernals into cornmeal. Others hummed as their skilled hands brushed thin black patterns onto scores of newly crafted bowls and jars.
A young girl rushed up a ladder to announce her brothers' return from ripe mesa top fields, carrying baskets of fresh cut corn, squash and beans on their backs.
A summer of nourishing rain promised that storage cists would be stocked well with food for the arduous winter ahead and seed for the vernal plantings.
Dusk fell on Spruce Tree plaza as rich aromas of venison and fresh baked flatbread suffused the crisp October air.
Anasazi is the fourth poem in a cycle called Echoes from Colorado.
No, I am not alone I turn to the sky and glisten with the same stars that touch the whole world and I am not tired My face is hidden in shadows covered in blood, sweet and tears as well but I am alive. I feel the gravel beneath and between my bare toes That prickling fire air only sparks me more Everything is heightened in my scope of mind and screaming with life I know it deep down like a charge through my bones and remember that I used to feel alone but now I look up into her eyes, the universe and know it was never true I run past the illuminated windows of lives people have built for themselves and even feel connected to what they represent I make my decision and begin to fly the distance from lonely growing inside My roots are unwinding and finally ripping free from all the cages I made throughout my years I take the forest path in the comfort of dark so that I can be alone but won't have to feel alone. I sit among the towering old trees and I breathe a deep gulp of the universe It is calm and eccentric and everything at once It breathes I breathe and I am not alone not ever wherever we are we are not alone.
Thought I'd share one of my earliest poems, found in a journal entry. This is a lot longer than I normally do, but I had to include it all.