Kiva at Chaco Canyon




The kiva meditates on herself

On the roundness of the soul
On the eagle's circular vision.

Lie on your back, little girl—
Notice the sky!  It's contained
In its own infinite funnel.

I know this kiva.  We are old friends—
The mother we never had.
I recognize her!  It's she
Who forces one toward the middle.

In the kiva there is only middle.

Looking out through her bald blue eye
It's me:
Looking in, looking out.




*Originally published in Blue Mesa Review
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