Tribal Land


Driving north of Ignacio, the blue star kachina and the angled faces of Chimney Rock, cabbage and carrots shredded into Planck-slaw: the frequency so low it twirls in no pattern.  Quanta emitted from this body therefore is great, hot, and feels like a miracle being born.  “I won’t let you wander, aimless, nameless, buried in the stainless steel,” assures brother Lif.  My protector is leading me everywhere I need to go to sing as all my angels, to speak in tongues, to dance in new colors.  Saffron, indigo, and the ancient riverbed, cool on my toes.  And the poets, they transcribe the raw language of nature into our refined forms, then a trickle to hydrate the world.

©2011, Amaya Engleking

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3 comments

  1. mitchteemley · February 8

    Rick imagery. Wish there was a Like button!

  2. Cheryl Ruffing · February 9

    I agree about the rich imagery. I can see those vibrant colors.

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