Ceremonial

the day grew out of our responsibility. we filled an area we called Mesa with the elements we would use. a campfire, roaring its pleasure in the logs it consumed, sent a cloud of smoke to that other place. we drank water, for pleasure. our feet were grounded, of course, our heads in or near the clouds. we decided we could learn a lot. a wind swirled, that was music. the air was rich, new for everyone. we stayed inside the picture, engulfed with a word that we weren’t about to say. the final act would be so gentle, consummate, yet even so proud. there would be a dalliance, seemly as the wind. this poetry, one of us said, cannot lose us. and there was nothing to do but agree.