Pregnant Woman

Lonely pyramids greet me
as I walk the clay road
a striding gait
into a winter wind
gray upon gray moving
over the pregnant woman
on the other side
of the black cut
where the river runs
at the bottom
feeding the trees
that knead her belly
remembering hawks
who saw the men
in skin paints
on warmer days
etch circles
in the granite
and look up
knowing
keeping
telling
spinning
fading
out