The clouds they rise and spread
Across this Anasazi sky
Fresh paint upon this ancient place
New life to breathe into my wooden face
High upon a mountain top now I live
I and my like, each with a mystery,
Perhaps from a star, or many stars
or a mystical crack in Mother Earth
Born of water and battered by wind
I found my way to this place
Led by a desert Sun past my labors
Time's threaded weave I put to rest
Skillful hands craft an image
Ink and Paint and Feather, holy bound
Blade to wood and water to stone,
Blood to fetish. I dance and sing
From nowhere and for no one
And I never find a mist in the desert,
The heat and cold so hard at work
And here, mist and Time be one
No one to know from whence I come
A wayward woman, a kindred soul
My spirit nourished by the heat of the
Sun
And I now to learn the mystery of me
As I craft and weave and begin to
Believe
