New Mexico Mercury

The  men come down
in twos and threes South
to  dust-dry Zuni River:
surround and screen
six tall  Sha’la’ko of the
snapping beaks and hooting.

Up the hill the small
Zuni girl chops  at
stacked juniper  with
a sharp, man- sized axe:  
smoke comes East swings
around North then West.  

Long Horn goes to and fro 
sways side to side shaking
his bones:  chants guttural
and low among The People 
and scattered Navajo
outside Sha’la’ko House.

The waning
humpbacked moon
emerges
from Black Rock.

From sub freezing air
an Anglo slips into hot
Sha’la’ko House:
his glasses fog up.
The People without
jostling absorb him.

From behind
a young Zuni man
gently rests his hand
on my shoulder: “Excuse
me, sir. Would you
remove your cap?”

“Oh a ah—of course,” my
tongue stumbles. “Thank you.”
“It is ok, Uncle,” he says.