At the third world's first sun, <br />the Anasazi climbed <br />through a portal they called Sipapu <br />and pressed footprints in the dust <br />of a new unspoiled universe. <br /> <br />In secluded canyon hollows, <br />watered by softly chanting springs, <br />rocks rose upon stone <br />forming vast adobe cities <br />mortared with pastes of moistened clay. <br /> <br />At Mesa Verde, Chaco and de Chelly <br />fields of maize swayed, <br />brushed by the canyon winds. <br />while the Pueblos danced in plazas below <br />to the throbbing beats <br />of skin-stretched hollow log drums. <br /> <br />Today their distant offspring <br />circle fire pits in sacred Kivas <br />intoning chants and prayers <br />to their hallowed ancestors. <br /> <br />Wearied by famine and conquest, <br />Pueblo eyes scan the heavens <br />searching for a new Sipapu - <br />a portal into a better world still. <br /> <br /><I> September 11, 2006</I> <br /> <br /><I>Published in Oh, What a Tangled Web - edited by Faslund and Euwaite</I><br /><br />Robert Charles Howard<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sipapu/
