The Palace of the Governors

Along the wall, deep in the shade of the Palace of the Governors Indians recline, casting invisible lines with slender wooden rods, nudging their rings of soft green and glittering silver, hoping to catch the eye of a lingering tourist fishing for a spark of interest. But every angler knows that if you show your desire, the fish will pass you by. And so they idly glance into the bright, busy city square beyond as we slowly walk by, nodding politely, inspecting their rings gleaming like lures, when at last we come to the smiling potter. Gently he pulls us into, the curving, perfect void to touch this black-ware, to feel what it holds: the smooth darkness of everything.