| OCR Text |
Show H A bearded, pale elk came to you in silence, speaking silence from the sweep of his ascending horns sprung like lightning from a brow of granite cloud. The power was spinning in your belly, dark and sweet and vast, burning where your thighs join and song is rooted. And the sun shouted red songs, striking the drumhead of the mesa, and you could not remain still, your arms tried to hug the horizon and you sang in sound that lived before the word. Weak, weak, the cool earth at your back, the grandfather returned, his hard brown hands gripping the shoulders of this new body. |
