I hear it coming up through the rocks.
It is a geyser of air that draws me farther up
the redstone staircase.
I look down over my shoulder to the river valley
below and almost lose my nerve.
But something pulls me higher, takes hold of my spine
and stretches me.
I am not alone.
Handprints are stamped on the staircase walls.
I mime my hands with theirs.
The Anasazi have never left.
I kneel at the mouth where the rock lips are open.
A column of wind is wafting, rushing out
from the center of the Earth.
I try to shape a voice, to feel its words through the delicacy
of my fingers.
But it is not to be touched.
My hands are pushed back by its force until my mouth is covered.
In the beginning, there were no words.
I am behind the rocks.
I strain to see what it is, who it is,
try to blow it out like a candle flame to see if a trail of smoke
will curl and wrap itself around me offering clues as to how
it moves in the world.
But it is not to be seen.
There is nothing to taste.
There is nothing to smell.
I inch back, precarious, and focus on breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The attention of breath in love.
Two breaths creating a third, mingling and shaping
each other like clouds.
Cumulus clouds over the desert.
On my back, I reclaim the sweet and simple ecstasy of breathing.
The wind becomes a wail, a proper lament
for all that is hidden.
Inhale.
Exhale.
This is the dream time of the desert.
The beginning of poetry.
My body softens as I make my wish to follow my breath.
It settles on the backs of swallowtails.
We are carried effortlessly through the labyrinth
of these labial canyons.
Breath becomes a lizard, hand splayed on red rock walls
up and down, up and down.
A raven lands: black wings are extended like arms.
The animals know.
The Anasazi know.
It is audible.
I lean forward and listen, breath.
With my hands on the rocks, I place my mouth over the opening.
My belly rises and falls.
I move away and listen.
I return with my mouth over the opening.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I move away.
I listen.
I return.
I am dizzy.
I am drunk with pleasure.
There is no need to speak.
Listen, below us, above us, inside us.
Come.
This is all there is.
Thank you.
Travel safely home.