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 holy continua. 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 this child. Falling through time toward a circle of mothers. Sprials traced in divine emergency.