mournful light shadows
the intolerance of occlusion

the canyon pinks of an open sky
now calm, soothes the lonely

cloudwaters reflected in the
soft drone of complacence

their subversion to vagrant
standing as piquant yet alone &

trophic, like a sentinel milled
smooth to feel a man fallen

who, forlorn & forgotten,
never asked for forgiveness

yet all my brothers walked at
the boneyard of this grieving

their own lands accepting tears
before the air could receive

their grounding, making time
appear in dilation lost long

in the vapors of sorrow,
like rain pinning the circle

of dreams merged magnificent
inside their waking hours

© K. James Ribble

“We have lived upon this land from days beyond history’s records, far past any living memory, deep into the time of legend. The story of my people and the story of this place are one single story. No man can think of us without thinking of this place. We are always joined together.”

—Taos Pueblo (Tuah-Tah) elder / New Mexico History Museum