There once was a woman
who lived by the sea, uttering
sounds alone in her hut. The dense
cold air echoed back,
by the cold, gray, emerald sea.
There once was a woman who lived in the mountain, quiet
sleeping inside the mountain.
For it was she who made the mountain grow, dust
and dust, each particle of dust, building
the strength of that mountain.
Ther once was a woman
who was the power of the seed,
it was she who made flowers bloom
and grow, from the new green
of that seed.
And there once was a women who was a maker of languages,
who rode on waves of sound, spewed
out images. And children
waved as she flew by, over towns
throughout all countries,wrapped
in gusts of wind.
There once was a woman who was a wanderer.
cold and lonely in desolate places,
fthough rivers, fields
and forests she wandered. Into
caves and icy palaces,she
traveled,a stranger. . . . And yet
she sang. Her voice
like a golden angel weeping, singing
from a place we do not know, the place before all songs began.