Yazzie & I (1977)


“On the death of a friend, we should consider that the fates through confidence have devolved on us the task of a double living, that we have henceforth to fulfill the promise of our friend’s life also, in our own, to the world.” – Henry David Thoreau

I met Yazzie when I was seven and she was six.  We rubbed noses in the alfalfa field out to the North of the Nenahnezad School and made secret promises to each other.  Some I will never reveal.  Through the years, we drifted apart and then back together again.  We were a mystery to each other.  We saw wonder in the world all around us.  In September of 1977 when I was sixteen and she was fifteen, we drove out near Burnham Mesa and danced under the stars to an Alice Cooper song.  It was our first and last date.

My old friend is gone so quick, without a touch, her breath has skipped.  A seal is broken; the spirits move fast, a famous journey on a distant path.  Oh, my partner, your lips brushing past, the four winds whirling, a picture still last.  My vision, my flame, my Navajo, that warmed me when the night was cold, took me, touched me while stars preformed a mass.  We danced so close, that we weaved a cocoon while our bodies touched inside our passions grew.  For you made me a ghost, I made one of you too, the sand on my back, while the world was you.  Made me a never, never, never, never man, whispering to me “be mine in thought, if only you can.”

For it was back then, so long ago, I became first boy on a sea of sand.  And I grew still inside of first girl so true, while the demons hid while the sky turned turquoise blue.  Her sheer layered dress, her falling hair, a pathway in time that charts a future shared.  Our souls so silent before the beauty we made, below the mesa, while destiny played.  For oh, my Yazzie, we are more than flesh, under stars that trail, that seek our breath.  For You and I, were I and you, a gasp in laughter, while worlds unglued.  A time together when where, was where. Indus crosses meridian, this now September, my Yazzie you are over there.

Just last night as I tried to sleep, my mind so anxious from a week so bleak.  I saw you passing just two stars to the right, headed beyond Mercury to a sun so bright.  Your gray hair streaming turning black by my sight, and you looked so young like you did that night.  And I played some Alice, and I played him loud, for just like back then you assured this old man, we were a constant somehow.

Deb Yazzie was a dear friend of mine from Childhood that left just the other day to travel to where there is no dark valley, just open sky and the best of an enduring mystery in Neverland. – 09.29.2021 – דָּנִיֵּאל

 

The Spirits of Bisti (Patiently)


“The future for me is already a thing of the past –
You were my first love and you will be my last” – Bob Dylan

So long ago, first man, first woman, first love a song sung so patiently. Stars and angels, ruins beneath the eggs of Bisti, let what we do be born patiently. My love, my love I will love you eternally. My love, my love, I will see you again in Bisti eventually,

She, moves and summons so patiently, in threes, sixes and nines, the Bisti moving she on bended knee. Moving these images throughout these dreams. Swaying in song so delicately, her whispers dialectically. While Steve Perry wails, she kisses me, under rocks above me, oh another world that beckons me. Ruins that spin, while she touches me, here to live eternally. Sand pouring methodically, the notes of stars above fall melodically. The universe outside my car, our score that no one see’s. Just the spirits of Bisti so patiently, in you and me, moving, eyes closed, incessantly. We burst, worlds move, so patiently, light shines incandescently. Inside and outside of me, only this once. I succumb patiently.

Night winds fly higher than we can see, desert moon in November touches the ground in prophesy. Your hips bare the secrets inside of me, together, first woman, and first man, mythically almost tragically. Still there is a song forever, I keep gloriously. Later I learned you died, on a highway knowing what you did not see. No doubt your eyes closed, just like in Bisti, so patiently. November 29th so early. The morning star falling on a frozen desert sea. To your grave, in my head you kept me, so no one could see, the trail we blazed patiently. The spirits of Bisti, a covenant in immortality, tall columns of rock of relevancy, that watched so quietly, while we shared so patiently. So patiently.

Spirit I summon thee, so patiently, just like then move with me, let doors open like her with me. First man, first woman, let guardians shelter us in this moving desert sea, while we move too. Her to me. Me to what I cannot see, above these ruins, where shadows recede. Let what we did bring immortality. Let our love be patiently.

So long ago, first man, first woman, first love a song sung so patiently. Stars and angels, ruins beneath the eggs of Bisti, let what we do be born patiently. My love, my love I will love you eternally. My love, my love, I will see you again in Bisti eventually. – דָּנִיֵּאל – 11.29.20

The Concert (Maryann)

There was a time, when deserts rose, beyond the Organ’s those mountains those, and when I came there, to watch Brad sing, you were the surprise there, you were the spring. An early summer, in 78, when all of seventeen thought it was king. Oh my, sweet Maryann, that night it brings, I to my betters, when Boston sing’s, when Boston sings.

Johnny will you take us, Joe and I, take us southward down I-25? There in your blue pickup, there as stars go by, I will meet Maryann as Boston spans the sky. If I see those fields of chilies, there in Hatch in spring, they go by in April, like her eyes waiting for what fall brings. Overture of lightning young boys from a small town north, headed to the southern desert.  Adventure upon a university shore. Indeed it is a first concert, thereby the first rites of spring. Sammy Hagar will open, by toke or by Cabo that red rocker will scream. What it is in an answer there on a campus nighttime lawn, a blue jeaned raven, can you keep your pants still on. Oh it seems to me, time it still brings, memories of Maryann, dropping her eyes in spring. While Joe is getting hickeys, and Johnny’s eating wings, my back’s against Alumni, telling a dreamer, dreams.

There was a time, when deserts rose, beyond the Organ’s those mountains those, and when I came there, to watch Brad sing, you were the surprise there, you were the spring. An early summer, in 78, when all of seventeen thought it was king. Oh my, sweet Maryann, that night it brings, I to my betters, when Boston sing’s, when Boston sings.

Four rows from the stage, “Jane” rears her smoky head, towers of amplifiers scream. Sammy moves in red, whiskey bottle, the entire stage grooves. Up into our chairs, blue jean hips, Maryann turning ruby red lips. What a night in spring, Overton window, I might should take this chance it seems. The song it starts to play, lights in concert, stray, and Maryann kisses me, Boston in a medley, “More than a Feeling”, my Maryann slips away, but in memory she stays, in memory she stays.

There was a time, when deserts rose, beyond the Organ’s those mountains those, and when I came there, to watch Brad sing, you were the surprise there, you were the spring. An early summer, in 78, when all of seventeen thought it was king. Oh my, sweet Maryann, that night it brings, I to my betters, when Boston sing’s, when Boston sings.

My first rock concert, I traveled with Johnnie little and Joe Kelting to Las Cruces, New Mexico in April of 1978. At the Pan Am Center at NMSU, we saw Sammy Hagar, and Boston. I had met Maryann the night before on campus. She twenty-one, me seventeen, starry-eyed and shy, afraid to look her in the eye. She talked to me, sharing her dreams, and the night of the concert when Boston sang “More Than a Feeling”, she turned toward me and kissed me.6.30.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Boats against the Current


A step, a thought, a solution to where we find ourselves brought together in the end. A phrase that repeats it all, until I fall, and oh my friend I fall, lost to it all. For perfection is consuming, no longer sailing alone. A boat against the current until the end.

Maybe, a line that last forever, dreamers lost in the past, is it that perfection is consuming, or is it time that will not bring us an end. Like footprints that never leave us after the fall. I never had you, but it seems something inside kept you after all. May be I’m older, but that doesn’t seem a solution, to where I find myself, wandering from the past. A dreamer I’m older, a captain out of order, and though I don’t sail a boat, I think my heart has found a coast to sail against. To sail against.

Lines that take me, life how it shakes me, and all in all perfection is consuming, for nothing ever stopped the tide where we thought we had rest. For a ride on a boat against the current, for a look that touches something that always last, there we are motion, waiting for the dark, and on our own will it ever end. Oh woman, I cannot pretend, the shore it seems to be beyond what I can bend. We are boats beyond the current to the end. So we smile in the dark, knowing things, that make us human after all, and we know from the past, we know, things that connect us to the end.

Frame of illusion, while seasons are changing, those things that take away tears. Did I ever tell you, love unspoken is rebellion against the end. Oh the shore line it keeps changing, but still it’s the past I will not defend. For a gospel takes a word and it starts with a spark. Oh beyond it tells it all, our tomorrow is all that is left, brought together, by illusions to the end. It could be, I would reckon were boats against the current to the end.

Built on an anvil, when summers were hotter, when all the feelings felt truthful, and bound to never fall. History thought illusion, but some stories are not built on pretend. Could be we were boats against the current to the end.

Unapologetically a rip from Eric Carmen’s Boats against the Current, from which many a romantic dream was spawned. – 04.06.2015 – דניאל