You are the only one who believes that we have replanted the savannah which bulldozers gobbled up. Together we blew on the concrete trees and they flew away like leaves on the wind. With green thoughts in mind, we took a breath and blew again. Thus the land returned to how it was before those savage iron creatures came. Hand in hand, we began leaping like tigers under a sky deferred.
The moon is a plate of silver polished with grass that only grows under a full moon, ancient silver still fit for the Bedouin’s weddings. The grandmothers tapped out their long pipes onto the millstones and went to bed early to see their tiger grandchildren in their dreams.
It is better to believe and in this way knead the dream into the bread of sacrifice… O grandson of the old tiger, pass through this window, opened by the grandmothers’ dreams, to your lost abode.