Overarching clouds on red bluff; a bridge is made. I am here with answers, answer man says, shakes his head. We have no questions today, only red wind, blue song.
Bridge overarching high clouds pulls parallel chords, voice and structure, webbing falls
across red bluff. The answer man says, I am here, here. Quavering in high wind, wind keening and rocking this bridge we stand, open mouths, open throats. This singing is carried
away, answer man says. His voice is thin as spider’s silk, thin as air on high chord, where bridge meets bluff
red clay meets cloud, red sun falls blue heavy bluff, dust to dust to dust.