Indian love letters By Marah Ellis Ryan

The Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park at sunset.

O Dream:

I have lived, for the memory of you, the life of the Kiva!
You, Lady Beloved, do not know in your world what that means.
In your colleges, and in the cities, I found no men who knew that life.
It is lonely as the mesa top in the darkness, and as far above the world!
Yet the mesa rose, hernava, grows there, and, in its fragrance in the cool dusk, dreams come until they touch a man!

And, in that odorous darkness, you live for me in its petals of gold!
I do not touch them with my lips — Soul of Mine!
I do not pluck one to wear, as your white friends wear the freesias in their dinner coats;
— only the winds kiss it, and our star's light touches it, and when I lie waiting for sleep in the dusk of the desert night,
 I look up at our star, and know that it shines on my rose, and that the wind of the mesa brings its breath to me!
And then — sometimes that breath does not come until many stars have crossed the sky!
 — but then, Hoetska — gray little singer of the desert—then, I sleep!