I will walk to a place with a high cliff, and camp by the lake there at evening, and study the grand firs and the nobles reflected in the water made still by the evening.
I will sit by the fire and consider, and lie down to count stars, and sleep, and in sleep dream dreams of green bones.
When the morning arrives, grey and cold, I will rise and walk to the high place, bringing with me a drum I have made, and a song for my scattered people.
There, on the rock, where no one will hear, I will sing the sun up, and name names, and the names will be holy to me.
the rest of this lovely thing is