Even if the mountain burns itself out, even if the survivors slaughter one another—shepherd, sleep. No matter where. I shall find you. My sleep is equal to yours. On the bright slope our herds graze. On the sheer slope our herds graze.
Without, burial-pits fill the beds of rivers gone under the earth. Fissuring rock is sister to splitting sky. The event precedes its auguries, bird attacks bird. Within, underground, my hands grind colors that have scarcely begun.