The river calls
from the base of Sandia.
And yet, claws, tight-fisted into rock,
trying to reach life, an old life,
a life that can no longer be,
a life that was never yours.
The more you fight and claw and fear,
the louder the call of the river.
Descend the peak, despite its
death-like appearance to the west,
it is there that you are called.
Come down! come down out of the mountain for
the river calls; the river calls your true name,
the name you were created to be.
If you can only see what I see; where you see death,
I see the reddish hues of the sunset on the Sandia;
I see the bosque, waiting to initiate and lead;
I see and hear the river that gives life.
No, not that river you see; but rather,
the river that flows and rushes beneath.
Come down! The river calls your name;
the river calls you to a new home,
more splendent and fruitful than what you have known.
Come down from the Sandia to the rio, for this,
this, will be your next home.