Nestled deep in the white, shifting sands,
rests a place of mystery…spirits filling the soul
Each labored step through this blistering land,
leads the searcher ever closer to the ancients of old

For those who choose to endure the trek
through this lonely land of eerie solitude,
swaying shadows, the sands do reflect,
scattered parts of a puzzle…answers to a clue

Traders of their time, the Pueblo would speak,
sharing goods with the Caddo far to the East
nomads on endless trails, no monuments they leave
only shards in the sand for those that do seek

Their flint and clay peers now from sandy folds,
where villages once stood…waters glistening from the moon
And bones bleached white by the sun’s rays of gold,
are all that remain of their lives in the dunes

Still their lookout circles high above their ancient camp,
patient eyes of the hawk awaiting the Jumano’s return
as the western sun slides into the sky’s fading lamp,
coyotes lend their chorus to the ghostly warrior’s chant

Mark Pelham
7-12-2008