Lay my head down in the ancestor place,
delicate on a stone. We all are alone
when the first stars come alive. They speak to us singly,
tête-a-tête, as if we were the only person in this desert.

But when deep night comes we are in company, like the flock
communing with the shepherd dog just out of sight
and meaning — a menace wrapped in a blessing.

By day we counted the stones, searching for a place to rest
numbered them one by one by one by one.
We turned them turned them like Bag-Bag’s son,
but night fell before we marked them all.
Anyway they were marked already
slim crossing lines on each facet.
Might as well count the sand or stars.

We light a campfire and watch the sparks
rise from the embers, and the stars float down.
Or is it the stars that rise, and the sparks that sink?
The animals huddle round, and all lights
are alive now like flesh or music or something that is both.

Look how they carry the stones in their glowing arms —
right up into the black air singing singing
they float there, laden confusion, turn turn
now back down, now up again, fall, climb,
meat, feather, rock, dream.

This was Dad’s range you know — I say to you —
and it was Dad who sent us past here this night.
He did it on purpose of course, though he plays dumb.
In the evening of his own youth he used to walk here himself
awkward, absent, thinking, hallucinating, crying —
until he looked up one sunset and saw Mother among the stones.

(I don’t think he knows that Mother told me this.)

Grandfather of blessed memory never taught Dad how to teach.
He didn’t show him what the word “teach” even means.
Dad probably still thinks it means “desert” or “dog” or “well”.
All of the Holy words were stolen from Dad’s mouth.
Grandfather plundered the most, and I took the rest.
I’ll admit it.

At dawn the stones are still strewn about the scrubland,
the fire and lights are gone and we are alone again, you and I.

Who are you — by the by?

There is no answer. There never will be.
And yet we must mark out the corners ourselves.
Look! I have a knife for this very purpose.

And then, gathering these rocks
we must build a house.