Serpentine slithers, the river
drifts wood from the north
through prickly underbrush
in hushful rushes of mud.
Local potters sit thin-lipped
at their family's oval kiln,
casino signs loom overhead,
the heirloom of the Res.
Coronado lives on in New Mexico,
the Navajo kept to a couple of acres,
the state still taking tourist reservations,
bleeding red the indian Nation.
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