The region of summer stars will remain the same
Throughout the year, mapped on molten, seething black
But whirling around the globe like a bundle of firebrands
Waved by a Medicine man around the tar-thatched sick-hut
On the outskirts of the village.

I only hope that we may live to see the dawn,
For the world's dawn is a pacific dawn, when the fire smolders
And tendrils of red surface on the waters, adavance and slowly
Take the rocky shore, scaling the cliffs, warming the redwood bark
And pooling into space, filling that primal void, that dancefloor,
With a waltz of light and shadow