In the sky’s throat I am dancing. Falling through time toward certain death. I watch and listen, see and wonder. My dreams and cries are colored spirals traced in divine continuua. Inside the sky’s voice where it sometimes rains stars. By day the throat is the sun, by night the moon. The sound is living thunder. I watch, and listen. My dreams become animals and places. My cries become a girl. Falling through time toward certain mothers. Sprials traced in divine emergency.