Curly mustache, 100-years-old Navajo man.
Thin, strong man wears glasses with stretch band knotted
behind his head, white mustache hangs long sides of his mouth.
How long this cricket been around?
Gray hat hangs from chair armrest at his side.
Motions long, hand-- brown fingers, shape of mountain,
metal wind, ridge of his knuckles,
flow in channels of his skin.
How many times the mountain tops?
How many times the roots?
Wears and pennies, neoprene.
I know because I had a pair once, cost 14.95.
Sole, ankle, high boots.
Voices wind down Canyon, tiny head water
wind from beneath granite onto flat plane soothing cool wind.
1,000-years-old cicada, here one moment, one place in millennia.
Tell me about glaciers.
Tell me if this is correct, what I have heard.
The scrape of a glacier sound--
the scrape of a glacier sounds like a touching wind
on stone, wood, in someplace mountain dream.
I heard it from a Laguna man.
A returning noise, he said.
I got the story from someone way back.
Old man, he points with the old root.
The compass of his hand knows the water courses, the water
holes, the life flow on Earth places on his mind.