There it lay, the earth-creature spread on the dusty ground - bone, sinew and flesh like
dough on a board
Slowly, gently, growing fiercer
the Maker, the baker,
breathed air, breathed fire into the creature's mouth.
Lungs swelled, heart's bellows pumped,
the earth-creature rose and stood
and from its throat came something new: a sound
like a waterfall, like a bird, like a wolf at the moon,
sound of wonder, life, power - a song.
Then the Maker, the shaker,
stirred the creature's limbs, feet, fingers
and the earth-creature stepped, turned, leapt, waved:
a spring of strength, a tiptoe tread - a dance.
Next the Maker, awaker,
spat on the creature's eyes,
clarified their mud still thick from the moulding.
Mazed, marvelling, the earth-creature
saw itself, the beasts and trees,
took flower dust and berry juice, made colours and patterns
bright as the red clay, myriad as the green leaves-a picture.
And last the Maker, ground breaker, began to tell a story
and the earth-creature carried the story on
with "once" and "next" and "then again",
a story of sky and land and water,
a story itself, of creatures, of the Maker.
This was until the story went wrong.
Yet still there were good songs, good pictures, good dances
good stories; and all along
the Maker was working, though the creature was blind and deaf,
preparing the best story, the best dance, the best picture,
the best song.