Return to White Mountain
From Prairie Schooner.
Long twilight fading into granite and cedar,
here in this later moment
the young years done
camp and trail
crawlings in caverns
all spent for a fleeting passage on a page of print,
I still remember your grandeur.
Inhuman wild gods begot you;
inhuman wild gods that the Indians worship in beast masks
There is nothing in all this I have won
to make a pebble fall in the late light.
There is nothing but the silence of the dead
in the mesa rock-towers
in all the leaves I have turned.
Reprinted from Prairie Schooner Vol VIII No 3 (Summer 1934) by permission of University of Nebraska Press. Copyright 1929 by the Wordsmiths of Sigma Upsilon.