After, we touch each stone, we say: this one is orange. This one is flecked with iron. this one is rainbow. this is magnetic. This has wrinkles. This is a dove. This has green eyes. This has ?...

The priest said only:

"Brother Nature,"
"Brother Fjord,"
"Brother Water,"
"Brother Fire,"
"Brother Bird."
There were no cordilleras there.
But he should have said that,
because the cordillera 
is water, fire, and everything.
It would have been good.
"Brother Cordillera."

My thanks, great brother,
for your non existence;
for this splinter that pierced
your stone heart like a sword
and cut deep.
All your grasses bite---
they're hungry.
Your winds weep with rage---
they're hungry.
The people 
they're hungry.
The poor people
they're hungry.
Why so much unfairness?