Then my father took me to New Mexico, And here my life changed. I was no longer the runner, I had forgotten it all. I had become a wise Indian. I could do many things. I could read the white man's writing And write it. And Indians flocked to me: Billy the Pelican, Hooked Nosed Weasel, Hungry Mole, Big Jawed Prophet, And many others. They flocked to me, for I could help them. For the Great Spirit may pick a chief, Or a leader. But sometimes the chief rises By using wise Indians like me Who are rich in gifts and powers ... But at least it is true: All little great Indians Who are after ponies, Jugs of whiskey and soft blankets Gain their ends through the gifts and powers Of wise Indians like me. They come to you and ask you to do this, And to do that. And you do it, because it would be small Not to do it. And until all the cards are laid on the table You do not see what they were after, And then you see: They have won your friend away; They have stolen your hill; They have taken your place at the feast; They are wearing your feathers; They have much gold. And you are tired, and without laughter. And they drift away from you, As Tobacco Jim went away from me. And you hear of them as rich and great. And then you move on to another place, And another life. Billy the Pelican has built him a board house And lives in Guthrie. Hook Nosed Weasel is a Justice of the Peace. Hungry Mole had his picture in the Denver News; He is helping the government To reclaim stolen lands. (Many have told me it was Hungry Mole Who tripped me in the race.) Big Jawed Prophet is very rich. He has disappeared as an eagle With a rabbit. And I have come back here Where twelve hundred moons ago Black Eagle before me Had the knife run through his ribs And through his heart. ... I will hide this writing In the cleft of the oak By this bend in the river. Let him read who can: I was a swift runner whom they tripped. MY LIGHT WITH YOURS I When the sea has devoured the ships, And the spires and the towers Have gone back to the hills. And all the cities Are one with the plains again. And the beauty of bronze, And the strength of steel Are blown over silent continents, As the desert sand is blown-- My dust with yours forever. II When folly and wisdom are no more, And fire is no more, Because man is no more; When the dead world slowly spinning Drifts and falls through the void-- My light with yours In the Light of Lights forever! THE BLIND