Walk these children in the drum’s pulse, O Elephants whose ghosts rise from beneath the forest soil. For I am a spirit raised from the grass, and the wind’s whisper through green hair, I am atmosphere implicit in the warping light as it dances from the moon to the sibilance of waters. Anciently slumbering, I dream that these hands transpose my words to a music that only the secret listener may hear, a music of codes that only the stillborn shall unlock.