Garden the cedar sways rain blots a petal of sand at my feet An ochre birthmark The image prints A white flesh rune in my freckle blue head At the roots of my fingers The knot stirs moves into the black thick fountainpen onto the page With this ink I irrigate my ochre children My cedar grows strong I shall carve it like a totem Robert James Berry Back to the Astrophysicist's Tango Partner Speaks