The urge to create, to render our visual world
Into symbolic language has passed through
Our human heritage like dewdrops on the wind.
Perhaps the markings from prior civilizations
Were secret codes,
Or simply playful notes from daily life,
Visions and dreams.
Mogollon artisans used primitive tools,
To etch, scratch and pit stones –
To draw their simple images onto lava rocks
Strewn across desert floor.
Animals, faces, plants, hands, geometric patterns –
All worked into hard canvases.
And six-hundred years later we gaze at their metaphors,
Touched by lives once lived among black rocks and desert sky.
The haunting pictures whisper across the ages to remind us that
“Everything passes, everything changes, appearing then disappears.”
Like all manifestation – illusive and transient,
Like dewdrops on the wind.