Sand Creek

The wind moves steadily,
northwesterly.
The wind moves down 
across the bending grasses.
Morning light falls
along the plain
illuminating infinitesimal sand grains.  
They sparkle toward the blue.
 
November 29th, 1864
Darkness and Death
dancing on hooves swept through.
Blood stained sand and snow.
Rain turns to frozen tears,
glazing branches of witness.
The wind moves down,
a requiem over those lost.
The wind moans steadily,
northeasterly,
as if from the cries of children.
 
– Burt Baldwin, Ignacio