issued the challenge to base our poetics on
the wound "foundation". My love for the
mysteries of time took me to the cliff
Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United
August 26, 2020
The approximate size of a football field tucked under a cliff overhang, it was
thought to be home to 60 or 80 people. They farmed the land above and made
their homes in the safety of the overhanging cliff for over 100 years, sheltered
from the desert sun, lightning strikes and driving rains. What happened to these
peoples remains for conjecture. Perhaps drought drove them from the dwellings.
For whatever reason, they vanished, and the cliff dwellings are left to history,
a remarkable monument to the peoples who constructed them. They left little
else but for broken shards and mystic glyphs to mark their passage in the pages
of time, no scribes to record their journey, a mystery for armchair travelers.