Where did the song go –
The one riding the wings of the wind
As the deep drums hummed

Where did the smoke go –
The one rising from roasting stew
Blessing the cornmeal shared

Where did the dancing go –
The swaying rhythm that carried spirits
Through scorching days and darkest nights

Where did the woven baskets go –
The ones heavy with harvest’s abundance
On the rock-floors of shade-covered mesas

Where did the people go –
Who labored under the baking sun
And dreamed beneath the piñon trees

They are still here, listen –
Ancestors whispering under star-filled skies
Tending flames in sacred kivas

Weaving old hopes into new dreams
Songs alive, rushing in our veins
Their lives and each breath taken – our own