Our eyes alight across fields of grain
In a dream of Sumer, long buried deep
Under golden sand – the winds howl,
Inanna on her mountain throwing them down, her wild war hands
Strong from an eternity of throwing spears.
I am the soil, dark and rich,
Fertile as my name, proud as
The mountains which bore me.
I am the wolves in the mountains,
The foxes in the hills,
The lions in the forests-
And here we are in the dark,
Howling and wailing at a dream moon
Gold reflection of the grain and the sand,
Felicitous worry built up in our hands
And thank the Gods we have souls,
Our feet bare on this land,
Grounding us in a dreamworld
Where these ancient cities sleep,
Their streets holding whispered secrets
Of these priests and priestesses
Now buried beneath the rocks,
Their gods holding them in their hands.