When the moon first appeared

in the ebony void

people saw it

and began to worship

the god of light.

It had risen

from behind the hills

and in the darkness

we saw its face

as the tip of a flame

lighting the shadows of trees.

The black water

became a resting-place

for its reflection

and because it mirrored

the face of a god,

we drank this water

and began to store it

in holy vases

which were placed in our homes.

These vases, carefully made

of white jade and ivory,

contained pieces of silver light

which we could pass on as a memory

of our first vision of the moon.

We used these vases

to teach our children

that though things may become

invisible to the eye for a time,

they never the less remain

solid and hard

and do not disappear

beneath the thick darkness.

This is the thing the moon

had revealed to us.

After a time

the moon lessened its image

and became three-quartered,

and a few became afraid and forgot

what it had taught them

It had risen from behind the hills

and part of its face was gone

These few worried that others

had discovered some way

of cutting it

and hiding its light

They thought that perhaps

the night was more powerful

than the moon

and was eating it

as death eats men.

They told their families

and when the leaves moved

along the ground,

and the hoots of owls

became like the cries of ghosts,

these few said the voices

came from the water,

that these sounds

were the cries

of the drowning moon

Many began to believe everything

They saw the onyx smoothness

of the water

as the god of the dark void

that eats all light.

2.

It was then that people

began to form numbers

that went in a straight line

We used these to count days,

and to see if our own

numbered longer

than that

of our neighbors.

We began to watch the animals,

began to suspect

the fox,

the bird,

the snake,

the dove.

We thought the beaver

might be stealing

the roots of trees

to hide the moon's reflection.

We watched the bird

and wondered if it might be gathering grass

to hide the moon in the trees.

We watched the snake shed its skin

and believed it had eaten the moon,

that it grew new skin so the silver light

could not escape from its body.

We thought the mouse had taken it

in the middle of the night,

and had run to hide it underground.

We thought the dove had swallowed it

because we heard it in her voice.

Then we began to make weapons.

We shot the dove and opened her

We killed the fox

and the beaver

and still the moon remained partly missing.

We found the snake, the bird, and the mouse,

and we skinned these animals

and put burning twigs in their skulls.

We found our neighbors

and killed them,

and put lightning bugs in their mouths.

Then we lit candles and made churches,

and we prayed that the souls

of the dead

would return the moon to its original fullness

and make our own days numberless again.

3.

And I looked up

and saw that the moon

was now halved in its light.

I believed that my ancestors

had made the moon wane.

They had taken the water

and had swallowed it at night,

and the light of the moon

had passed

into the bodies

of their unborn.

I began to worship

the god of spirits.

I began to make large wars

to release the hidden light

from the moving limbs of the living.

I remembered the vases

which contained the moon

in the same way the body

encircles light,

and I took these vases

and opened them,

and saw

that my own reflection

had disappeared.

4.

The moon rose quartered

and I thought the air

was eating my face,

that it had taken my reflection

from the dark water

I went to my house

and hid.

5.

I noticed the ants,

began to worship them.

I covered the ground

with large buildings

that protected me

from the day

and night.

I created my own light.

I made boxes

that reflected my image

back to me.

I saw stories of the great wars

I had won,

and stories with straight lines

that tied together so neatly

nothing was left hanging.

6.

By the time we had forgotten the moon

except as something to conquer

and put a flag on,

it went dark.

We watched the world

through only one eye.

We believed we could create

anything.

Not many noticed

the missing moon.

Powerful men had themselves frozen

before they died

so they could return

when we had learned to kill death itself.

We made glass cities which shone

with the similarity of our faces,

and we tried to discover

how to grow metal limbs

because we wanted to replace

those that still bled

when they were cut.

We believed that power

came from the blood of others,

and in our self-worship

we even began to believe

that eternity was a measurable distance

which could be crossed.

7.

And because an idol was known

to be the face of a god,

I held mirrors up to my face,

and in blindness to anything but my own image,

I licked myself clean of age and earth,

and entirely disappeared.

The rock was very old. It had lived in the river for many years, and its belly had become as smooth as that of the water that held it. It had traveled down the river, and had seen many things, had learned much. Each year it would go a certain length, and when winter came, it would become covered with darkness, and then would sleep. The ice would cover the river like a blanket, and the rock would feel at once like falling, like sleeping. Then it would only dream of the past year, and would remember what had happened. In this way the rock could learn, it could remember, and make a part of the past year its own.

Within it the rock had many things. It had the green of the trees, the bear's sweet tongue, the scales of the fish, each of them a rainbowed mirror of the earth above. The rock saw all of these things, and many more, and had become each thing that it had seen, carried them within itself, until it was many things, this small rock.

It had started out a large mother rock, perhaps the mother of all rocks, but it could not stand to think that it was alone, that it was only this one great thing. It could hear, every day, more and more, different voices talking, different voices than its own. Some of them wanted to be in another place, perhaps on another side of the rock, some of the voices talked only of stretching, perhaps even of stretching to the point of accidentally breaking off. But these voices knew that to stretch was to crack, and eventually fall off into who knew what. But when the rock was one great thing, it knew that it was still apart, that it was, or perhaps could be, different. It knew it in its rock self, and could not know what it knew now, it was still too young at the time. Then it only knew that it heard other voices within and without its great rock self. It knew of the river, and would look down. It knew of the wind, could hear its different voices. It knew of the rain, and that it fed the river, it knew that there were others besides itself. It knew of these few things.

Now it was very old, and had seen and become many things. The lichen had talked with it, had joined it, and made the rock its home. The leaves that fell and died in the river told it their stories of the winds and insects, and the rock had become them all, the many snow-covered winters, many summers, the many different springs and falls. It had become the stream that had become the

river that had been swallowed by the great salt sea. It had fallen deeply asleep beneath the great depths, had been carried by the mother tides, until finally, within itself, it felt many little voices, and the rock then remembered its beginnings.

These voices knew that they were not alone. Some wanted to be on the other side of another small voice, some wanted very badly to stretch, and the old rock heard them all, many small, frightened voices, all afraid of cracking, falling off into who knew what. But these small voices all knew that they were not alone, and at the same time that they were different.

Then one day the rock felt a little pain in its smooth side, felt a little as if it were, perhaps, dying. It felt a small, very small, perhaps, crack. It hurt, but the rock was not afraid, it loved its small voices. The rock felt within itself, and remembered, for it had slept and dreamt for many winters. It remembered itself, and knew that it was still the great mother rock, who knew that to fall, even apart, was to go on to see and to become many different things. Then as the rock lay on the sand, deep beneath the great sea, it felt at home, knowing that even though it would be different, it was not alone.

All that is above

Also is below

She was hungry, so she made food to eat.

She was thristy, so she made the rain.

She was at first, so she made the many.

Then clouds became clouds because she wanted to see them,

The sun because she wanted to feel warmth on her skin.

So then she made snow, to feel the difference,

The difference between heat and cold,

And the wind because she wanted her breath to be felt,

That's why there are all kinds of birds,

To do this.

Before she was thirsty for life.

Alone.

Alone she was thirsty for life,

She wanted to be a mother.

She made each thing different,

Drops of water,

Sand grains,

Snowflakes,

Eyes,

Rivers,

Mouths to feed.

Then in the palm of her hand

She gathered these things,

Her breath in everything,

Crystals, green gems, rubies

And fire; in her hair insects crawled,

Made webs in her hair, and she

Wore them like emeralds,

They were related;

Her breath in clouds

And rain her spittle.

The clay gods spoke to her then,

Made mud. From out of the mud

She made a husband.

It rained a lot, didn't stop.

It still hasn't.