Ago My children, when they were very young, Played in a great landscape, windy and wild, Near “the place of the bridge” on the Rio Puerco. In the middle distance were gullies and dunes, And a train moved slowly eastward As if stitching patches of color to the earth. Rabbits ran from the brown and yellow brush. My children knew the goodness of that place. Now when I go by, they are there. Something Of their delight remains among the rocks, Tsegi, the place of origin. Their laughter slips On the ripples of sand, and I look after them.
