Once with a clairvoyant friend
We drove up to the spring at Hoteville
In Hopi-land because another friend
Had painted it and we wanted
To see the real one for ourselves
In the painting you could see
She saw it was a holy place
Where one could stand in reverence
As the sun rose or set
And the light blazed the water
As one could only do it in a painting
We wanted to see if we could still
Feel it too not the past despoiled
But the distant sacred future
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