he looked
through his jail
bars mud plastered
into the kiva adobe, crow
sat waiting in the tree, hot
sand blew, Ghost of Dolores
Valley danced fifty yards away, it knew,
Shoshonian and Ute-painted sun ray, arresting
solstice clue,

dust devil
mirage swirled
up like a bottle neck,
his infected bites spread
like a cyber virus, in his cell,
on the web, black widows spin
death gauze,

his jurors
on the way from
Chaco Canyon, the
turquoise people, the
squash people, and the
True Shaman with datura
seed pods brought from Mesa
Verde, the spirit world of the Anasazi
gods, spring equinox astronomical alignments,
they will send him to death and the Piñon nuts won't
weep over the vile secret he keeps,

from Tin Cup Mesa, Utah
the archaeologists come, putting
into his jurors hands, granite and sandstone
manos and metates for stoning him to death,

he looked
through his jail
bars mud plastered
into the kiva adobe, crow
sat waiting in the tree, hot
sand blew, Ghost of Dolores
Valley danced fifty yards away, it knew,
Shoshonian and Ute-painted sun ray, arresting
solstice clue.

Copyright 3.17.2010 Ms. Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist