On the edge of the water, in unseasonable heat, with the attention that comes from living on her own terms, Siya? the food chief neither watches nor endures but waits within the world that, along with her, is this offering.
Siya? at Blind Creek
But those words are all English words and they are all wrong. Still, I hope the resonances they set up allow a bit of wind and sun to enter that part of you the wind and sun touch and that there you find an invitation to walk through this place and come out with her. The end of poetry is not poetry.