Chaco / Peter Walsh

chaco

Peter Walsh

They smirked at me, those old stones,
they knew their mysteries were safe,
lost in my puzzlement, crumbling walls
and their haughty victory over time.
My questing mind was thrust back
in centuries long lost, filled with ghosts
and wandering breezes lacking barest
form and any sounds of past life.
Yet,
I tried to hear the whispers of long lost lives;
but could not.
I tried to see the filmy shapes of spirits;
but could not.
I tried to smell the cooking fires, and the sage;
but could not.
I tried to feel their eyes looking at me;
but could not.
I tried to step into the footprints of those past;
and this, I did!
Have I touched their life?
Who have I become now that
I have added my step to wear the stone,
already smooth from a million ghostly steps?
Who will wonder about me?
Who will step in my footprint?
I am no longer there to see.
But still, I know,
The empty wind blows.

Peter Walsh is a poet living in Palm Springs, California.