Sunset enacts the fire of the stars,
and your shadow makes you
fifty feet tall.  Walk a dirt road
down the lap of the valley
through fields turned golden
as the velvet folds of a mother’s dress.
The mountains above you, a father’s
craggy arms, snag water from the belly
of the clouds.  Bend over the river
they send and drink deeply of home.

-Susan Howe, Inheritance