Atomic Theory in New Mexico

In an old adobe church
In the Sangre de Cristos Mountains,
Christ writhes galvanized on the cross,
Bleeding from the gashes in his chest,
The nail holes in palms and feet.
The grinning skeleton La Muerta
Rides by in a cart, shooting his bow and arrow.
In shuttered village houses
Catholic penitents flagellate themselves
And torture their bodies and minds
In the Christ-trance,
And, shouldering the dead weight of Good Friday,
March, march, tottering under crosses,
Lacerated, lashing one another with whips.

The spark from my finger to a doorknob,
The lightning flash across the mountains,
The pull of a compass needle.

My mind:
Deep as the atom,
No up or down,
No in or out,
Just there.

I invent the universe
I wish to live in,
Conjure the spaces,
Clock the times,
And move,
Move through it all…

The random disturbances
In a pattern of crystals,
The flaws in a salt cube.
Occasionally a piece of quartz
Will crystallize with almost perfect hexagonal faces.

Atop Tsankawi Mesa,
With the wind and the crows,
On the bright southern side,
Carved on the cliffs,
Glimmer Tewa petroglyphs:
Among them a man
Pressing a flute to his lips.

At Fiesta in Santa Fe,
In the evening darkness,
A seductive fire dancer
Lifts up her torch
And the giant effigy
Writhes and groans
As it flies into fire.

Looking heavenwards at night
The Navajos see First Man and First Woman,
Dancing round the North Star.