Was a time

We swapped tales
Fishing for words that lay hid
In streams with indigenous roots
Behind rocks with geological names;

We shared snapshots
Of nameless faces we met in ordinary life,
Reflections of God from places
As diverse as Kayenta, Burrell Boom
Or a hospital waiting room in San Juan.

Was there meaning behind the scars?
The stuttered speech, the missing teeth?
The smell of Ponderosa Pine needles
Rising in the smoke of a Colorado campfire?

Was a time
We pondered the metaphorical nature
Of our physical realms, helmsmen
On a mystical boat in heavy fog
At night when the lapping of waves
Has almost gone still.

-- C. S. Cholas
27 September 2007