The Pass

the crowing wind has found its way
to the cochiti

strips away the husk
of late day

red silk
of ripe
corn

pushes the moon eagle
deep into the jemez

cottonwood drop their polished gold
the wind takes it from them
scatters it to the river

the wind becomes its forbidden dance
sacred chant heard in life
before life

one crow hovers

above the sound

of water

JP Pestana October 16, 2016