We came to the edge
of the mesa
and looked below.
We could see
the shallow wash
snaking down
from the cut
between two mesas,
all the way from Black Mountain;
and the cottonwoods
from the distance
looked like a string of tourquoise,
and the land was a pretty woman
smiling at us
looking at her.
- Simon J. Ortiz, in Going for the Rain,
Woven Stone
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