Leave Them in Peace
Canyon winds through bristle cone pines
condors soar below
ancient people laid in caves
a mystery to us now.
Leave their bones in peace
their split twig bighorn sheep
clay pots, spears
spirals incised in stone
petroglyphs of antlered dancers.
Spirits from the other world
swirl in vermilion rocks
deepest indigo,
black and white.
You must not go
to these holy places
where canyon winds blow.
In the time it took our spiral galaxy
to turn once around
Grand Canyon formed.
The ancient ones knew its worth and
what it was for.
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