Where echoes of his ancient flute reverbs,
the humpbacked canyon player lingers still.
He carved these walls with water sprinkled notes;
and blended pollen in the sandstone dust.
The desert wind transmits his whispered words;
that blessing sprinkle of his rains will come.
The shadows of his house relieve the scorch
from desert sun — gives mercy for your thirst;
his music tastes of petrichor relief;
it bears the sweetness of his cactus figs;
so when you dig his sunwarm sand — a well
will spring below to quench your urgent lust.
But please thread barefoot as you come inside;
and whisper with the wind — so you can hear
the Kokopelli songs that tells the truth.
That only through your silence you can hear,
the mercy and forgiveness from your sins;
from narcissistic gluttony of oil;
from soil transformed to waste-bins for your wims;
of yet another toy to waste your time.
of turbocharged consumption to build lard.
of clotting arteries and wasted growth.
So come in silence for his canyon flute,
and leave the pilfered loot you stole from earth.
Today Hannah inspires us with pictures from Antelope Canyon in Arizona at Toads. I lived in Arizona for a short period in 1992. The nature and the myths inspired me to write this piece of blank-verse. I listened quite a lot to R. Carlos Nakai when I lived there, and I’m sharing a piece which I listened to while writing this.