In the brief interface Of the moment's light Dangling time like the poise Of a dancer's heel Before the final pirouette, Across galaxies We search the impervious planets For familiar signals. We probe the stars with silver shafts For some new land bridge, But stars are veiled and silent. Unseen watchers who perceive The devil's dance of nations --The great lethal video game-- May know it comes tomorrow, that Last astounding flash in the dust. We will not have time To go the path of Atahualpa, Emperor of the Inca, Shall leave no steles like his To mark our fleeting presence. Only the feathers of our fiery selves Sunken to ashes, Blown on implacable winds.
From "The Light on the Tent Wall" (American Indian Studies Center, University of California, Los Angeles). Illustrations by Claire Fejes. copyright 1990 The Regents of the University of California.