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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 2, June 2012

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William Guthrie
Mesa, Arizona, USA


In Canyon de Chelly

Is it too late . . . are all the secrets lost? What of our Native American brothers and the stories their oral histories chronicle—might those enlighten mankind? Each time I stand on the desert floor in this land of shimmering waves and shifting sands . . . and look up, high up those sleek sandstone walls to where they built their shelters, I am haunted by mysteries of the past, of the people anthropologists call Anasazi.

a golden ocean
wild grasses wave
at ghosts

Perhaps as he sat by his fire developing and improving his weapons or creating implements to coerce existence from this arid, stingy land, the one who came before might have given a thought of me, that phantom in the smoke of his fire.

tendril of smoke
eye blink
life spirals

In this place where the mystery of life teems on every wisp of breeze, where wild mustangs travel through a land hardly altered in a thousand years, where the sun's rays charge every breath of air with expectation, I stand quietly and listen.

old ones whisper
sirocco
a dove cries

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