Obsidian Creation

I

The race of obsidian walk amongst the trees
crossing immobile shadows with their flickering ones
A wind whistles through the tops of the forest
They stop, and lay their molten hands on ancient wood

An enormous conch is taken from the belly of a woman
All eyes turn to it, except for its mother, lowering gaze
to her hand gently feeling her empty stomach
A call bellows through the whispering trees

The ground begins to rumble, then quake
Earth around the withering wood splinters
as the tree of Eloquem begins to rise upward
The flat forest gives way to its new peak

The people hold fast around the dawn of mountain
singing and chanting their morning song
Some stumble when they ascend to the wind
as the forest slowly sinks away

Three times the conch is blown, and all comes to a stop
In unison, they breathe seven times, then hold
Eloquem splinters into two slices
until only a shattered stump remains

Working quickly, the tribe begins to carve
Two opposing groups fashioning flawless twin logs
into enormous bowless canoes, pointing down
The quaking of the ground begins to rekindle

Fire bubbles out of the precipice
and the obsidian race climbs into their boats
Taking hold of the sides, they sing hectically
pitching their heads back and sounding the conch

The sun appears as if out of nowhere
The oarsmen squint at its brilliance
and the bubbling stump begins to spew forth
the magma from which they were made