And then there's a poem from this part
of the world called The Gardens of Zuni,
which you know all about.
There's a wonderful steel engraving
from the first explorations of the Gardens of Zuni.
The one armed explorer could touch only half of the country.
In the virgin half, the house fires give no more heat
than the stars.
It has been so these many years, and there is no bleeding.
He is long dead with his five fingers and some
of their touching, and the memory of the other hand.
His scout had sent back no message from where
it had reached with no lines in its palm while he balanced,
balanced, and groped on for the virgin land,
and found where it had been.