Now, my neighbors and I the--
in the Malpai group of ranchers are--
we've been trying very hard to keep all of the land open space
that we can.
And there have been formidable things
that we have been up against.
I wrote a poem really for my neighbors
and four other people who are engaged in that same quest.
And I hope that--
that that poem may find some of you here
who would want to be a part of the work
that we're doing in the Malpai group.
And I know that many of you here are already
engaged in that same quest.
"Old Earth, we are gathering these borderlands together,
mesas, arroyos, and valleys, blue mountain
range upon mountain range forever
turning toward dawn light then into the evening
West as far as pale North sky circling South,
to where the vaqueros come crossing horseback
by the broken mesas in Mexico.
There's a low light stretching from the sea of cloud.
Sky streaked down to touch Earth from heaven.
Who are you who crosses through that dusk light before us?
Past old-growth juniper, cedar, and mescal.
Across that great sea of sky, old singer,
we hear your voice calling: Turn back toward me.
Come back to Earth."