A red sand ring, a Hopi sun Beats at the cliffs, a red crow flies Out of the red stones; whirled and spun,
Out of the red ring, red things rise. Sandrock crimson windows cry
For red things up and red things free, A dance, a dog, and a ki yi yim.
And then that mocking mystery. Empty doors and empty town!
I fear no dog did dance that day, When red things up were red things down, Red that never washed away.