The Palace Of The Goveners, Santa Fe Poem by Steven Federle

Along the wall,
deep in the shade
of the Palace of the Governors
Indians recline,
casting invisible lines
with slender wooden rods,
nudging their rings of soft green
and glittering silver, hoping
to catch the eye of
a lingering tourist
fishing
for a spark of interest.

But every angler knows
that if you show
your desire,
the fish
will pass you by.

And so they idly glance
into the bright, busy
city square beyond
as we slowly walk by,
nodding politely,
inspecting their rings
gleaming like lures,

when at last we come
to the smiling potter.
Gently he pulls us into,
the curving, perfect void
to touch this black-ware,
to feel what it holds:
the smooth darkness of
everything.