Wind blows grain across the ground.
the hills make the sun a legend, kingdoms were seen Falling From up there. some kingdoms rose.
the sun’s glare, took them into the land…
Bitter grain. brewed to distraction. snake coiled in the shaman’s leaF. the sun drew evening into its selF and made it part of the land,
only the mother could raise her hand to it all and proclaim a course running apart From light.
We walked this Far in silence. We Felt her eyes glaring behind meshes of leaF. her breasts oFFered. hair woven out of Flax.
Nine spawns clawed From the caves of this region. hundreds more build on Fields that absorbed their work; our harvest slices
to debris the sun chose not to cancel, all discarded, no longer part ofits region: a crude child’s rattle, a stone-made. screw top jar.