Under cirrus high in the Arizona sky,
I tread with ghosts where Apache died.
Apache stalked in the morning mist
With long easy stride, spear in fist.
Diamondback, grizzly and coyote saw
Warriors on hillocks and in the draws.
Now, auto and golf cart on asphalt roll
By man-made creeks and bulldozed knolls.
And old men play that wait to die
Under cirrus high in the sun-dry sky.