Taking the road from Crownpoint to Chaco by Anne Walters

Old convertible, top down, and I don't mind my hair blowing In the wind. He likes that. The dirt road is rutted, dusty, curvaceous as a sidewinder. Blue sky swallows us whole, We are driving toward a city that ceased to breathe long ago. Its skeleton takes the form of stone walls, Its dreams are etched on boulders. A faint pulse still beats in the damp sand of the arroyo. We hold hands and let the warm air move through us. The juniper smells like a new beginning.
starlight in canyon
ten thousand ghosts whispering
we ride smooth and swift

Spring 2007

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