The old priests sleep, white-shrouded; Their pottery whistles lie beside them, the prayer-sticks closely feathered. On every mummied face there glows a smile.
The sun is rolling slowly Beneath the sluggish folds of the sky-serpents, Coiling, uncoiling, blue black, sparked with fires.
The old dead priests Feel in the thin dried earth that is heaped about them, Above the smell of scorching, oozing pinyon, The acrid smell of rain.
And now the showers Surround the mesa like a troop of silver dancers: Shaking their rattles, stamping, chanting, roaring, Whirling, extinguishing the last red wisp of light.
The darkness rolls upward. The thick darkness carries with it Rain and a ravel of cloud. The sun comes forth upon earth.
Palely the dawn Leaves me facing timidly Old gardens sunken: And in the gardens is water.
Sombre wreck-autumnal leaves; Shadowy roofs In the blue mist, And a willow-branch that is broken.
O old pagodas of my soul, how you glittered across green trees!
Blue and cool: Blue, tremulously, Blow faint puffs of smoke Across sombre pools. The damp green smell of rotted wood; And a heron that cries from out the water.
Through the upland meadows I go alone. For I dreamed of someone last night Who is waiting for me.
Flower and blossom, tell me do you know of her? Have the rocks hidden her voice? They are very blue and still.
Long upward road that is leading me, Light hearted I quit you, For the long loose ripples of the meadow-grass Invite me to dance upon them.
Quivering grass, Daintily poised For her foot’s tripping.
O blown clouds, could I only race up like you! Oh, the last slopes that are sun-drenched and steep!
Look, the sky! Across black valleys Rise blue-white aloft Jagged unwrinkled mountains, ranges of death.
One chuckles by the brook for me: One rages under the stone. One makes a spout of his mouth, One whispers—one is gone.
One over there on the water Spreads cold ripples For me Enticingly.
The vast dark trees Flow like blue veils Of tears Into the water.
Sour sprites, Moaning and chuckling, What have you hidden from me?
“In the palace of the blue stone she lies forever Bound hand and foot.”
Was it the wind That rattled the reeds together?
Dry reeds, A faint shiver in the grasses.
