Rob Lee

“La tierra del Encanto

Clouds build on the northern ridge
Where the shades of night grow pale
And there comes a rain like smoke.
The mountains loom and recede. And
Below, the umber plain is a pitted hide.
There the distance of time runs out.
And the mind extends beyond itself.

I have seen in the twist of wind
The landscape severed and heard
The edged cries of streaming hawks
First light is a tapestry on canyon walls,
And shadows are pools of illusions.
I am a man of the ancient earth
For I have know the desert at dawn”
― N. Scott Momaday, The Death of Sitting Bear: New and Selected Poems – By a Pulitzer Prize Winner: Kiowa Oral Tradition, Spiritual Landscape, and the Human Condition