All stories ever and the news
just twice once staged them all,
descend through age
from just fire and the sky
how we tell the Fall.
One the flickering flame
campfires they are to blame,
a cast of light on tall trees night,
and with the breeze
on shrouded leaves
shadowed stories do we weave.
The other - a higher source,
above canopies and cloudspaced wheeze
and branches scratching half-baked moon,
magnificent true purple magesty
the rolling of odds and gods, connected rods
to dotted days ablack sky plays --
warriors and wraths.
In the dark the stories came ,
twice not same some light.