Have there ever been friars here? Or caballos en el potrero, chico? I don’t know, I am afraid of this cathedral mountain, stone sacristy and holy of holies, a Wonder Wall above the pools, a picnic area where

Light would dwell

Among us

Who can dig and scrape and cajole this stone, this path? Light the wave, the pulse, the metaphor, the insistent presence, and somewhere, somehow we use it to call out to each other these great distances between

With news I do not want to substantiate

We will all break like waves

into light