Jan 26 04'

In the Badlands of New Mexico

west of Mt. Dora in the Capulin Range

there are canyons and caves

too desolate for most

but maybe, like me

some cowboy or sheepherder

has discovered their ghosts

and like me

thrives in the sheen

of the desolation and freedom

of a land intellectually clean

a forgotten microcode of the planet

holding few footprints of today

the wind carries the voices

of the souls of the past

the murmurings of

the ancients

the lone voice of the Grey Wolf

the Buffalo

I hear their whispers

brushing over the high plains grass

sometimes they call to me

to be cradled in the caves

to become one of the soulful sounds

a part of the lonesome wind

that blows in at midnight

tugging at me to find the peace

to merge my soul with theirs

and when morning comes within their caves

I awake. having weathered the night

with stronger footprints behind me

than there were before

I carry forward with their souls inside

perhaps a Chief

a Medicine Man

an elder

respecting the innocent wisdom

of the children

the despair of the child-men

giving credence to emotions

the way the ancients did