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.