In the last month of the year,
when the river doesn't return, a congregation of stones waits for
to appear with her maidens in their mineral skirts.
There are also a few "rain
stones," with paleo-shamans eager
to raise their
spirits again, peopling
with schools of fish, and the river's
dry bed with the feathers of migrating birds.
his readers that a wonderful time will come
when your old men shall dream dreams, and your young
men shall see visions.
A few years ago,
a notch in the hills at the sun-glittering ocean that dances along
the shore, a man in a luminous
pointed at the lapis lazuli sky and said, Many
fly today. I move with the
weight of my own gravity, a "slow
motion of more than I am."