Kiva Spirits

The canyon lies before me,

The familiar far behind,

Down the steep stone sides,

The colors beckon the heart,

As I travel into the depths,

To find a lair once lived,

A civilization long ago,

Indians of the canyons,

Thriving and residing,

Building their homes,

In the cliff side caves,

Square living spaces,

I climb inside exploring,

And can almost see faces,

Grinding corn feeding,

Sewing clothes weaving,

Seeing life’s meaning,

Found in focused spaces,

Within descending circles,

I climb down underground,

Into a room perfectly round,

Where they lit a fire center,

Gathering for ceremonies,

They sought full wisdom,

And as I close my eyes,

They begin to appear,

Faces etched in firelight,

Colors of life adorned,

As I listen to the drums,

Wordless songs allure,

As the stars begin to swirl,

Around the voice of our souls,

Pulling impure from within,

Allowing peace to begin,

For perhaps the love of God,

Is found in music beyond words,

And in opening watering eyes,

I ascend again to the sun,

To write of the Kiva room,

And the love there once sung,

By the spirits who were born,

And the souls which never die.

 A picture I took in a Kiva room.