Deeper into Pasture Canyon we ride,
the greener—families planting their fields,
lush from hundreds of floods, with melons, corn,
squash, beans—islands of fresh, cool, nighttime air
await us, saved in canyon-center shade
where creek rock tones re-echo by the trail

We coax our horses across the stream-song
before clambering up steep dunes and rock
exploring where two Navajo horsemen
have never ventured, rewarded finding
a stone mirror reflecting the light-dance
of sun rays playing clear, secret waters
of a hidden source, deep green oasis,
the wonder of a spring-fed desert pool
where we surprise Grandfather Coyote
who trots behind a bush trying to hide,
Old Man Coyote staring back at us,
waiting for us to leave his swimming hole

—For Percy and Terry Piestewa

Kept twenty days in dark rooms, the newborn
baby will receive the gift of his name
in the Hopi Naming Ceremony
greeting Dawa the Sungod at sunrise
after he is washed with yucca root soap
by Grandmother and Aunts, tradition’s way,
and blessed with touches of the Mother Corn

this ancient Hopi birth celebration
on a blissfully warm April morning,
black-haired angel already a warrior,
hearing his name spoken for the first time,
"Standing Bear" in Hopi meets Dawa, "Sun,"
forever protected by Mother Corn,
the sacred grace of Dawa’s bathing rays

Navajos voice corn pollen blessing songs,
spring green sun washing White Mesa’s faces,
plum reds, lilacs, lavenders of false dawn
brighten to turquoise blue sunflower light

there is no passive watching the sunrise
for elders, but passionate encounters
with sun spirits who recognize your face
if you are running at dawn—a warrior

Shimásání includes us in her prayers—
Christmas in her hooghan, this gift, her words:
"You are from here—that’s how I think of you."
Poetry deep in the Diné—I learn

first Navajo words: nizhóní, hózhó