Hymn to Red Tawa

   by Gary David


No burning ball of gas.
No, the sun is a mask

whose eagle feathers radiate
a white circle of compassion.

The sun is a katsina mask
who speaks heliotropically

to you atop a butte.
Standing with the sun rising

red across the Painted Desert
you make a temporal ripple

which makes a woman grinding corn
look up from her stone

700 years ago, thinking
she heard a dance rattle.

Blue corn, red sun.
We make a temporal ripple

we are that close. A spiral
petroglyph radiates from the heart

of the galaxy. We are that close.
The heart of the Christos, Buddha

Amitaba, the Creator Tawa speaks
through a mask of compassion

no burning ball of gas
shall ever wear. A white circle

of eagle feathers speaks
to you atop a butte.

To her grinding corn
he speaks heliotropically.

To you standing alone
with the sun rising red

from the burning heart
of the Painted Desert he speaks:

No death shall dance your life.
No death shall dance your life.

In either time
look up from your stone.

Look up from your poem.
We are red sun, blue corn, thinking

we heard a dance rattle
the katsina of compassion

shakes & shakes.
The katsina of the temporal ripple

grinds & grinds. Still
no death shall dance your life.

No death shall dance your life
in either time.

No burning ball of gas
shall know: The sun is a mask

the Creator of compassion
speaks through. Heliotropically

we are all that close. At the heart
of a spiral petroglyph

the galaxy speaks.
Through a white circle

of rising feathers 
the sun katsina speaks:

No death shall dance your life.
No death shall dance your life.
No death shall dance your life.
No death shall dance your life.