the land was quiet, in the sense that no man made noise,
erupted from within, only the footfall of one small child, with
the voice of bird, yet no feathers adorned her bony arms,
she searched for a nest close to the ground, for the song
of aliens, that echoed in her veins, she returned over and over to
her lonely cocoon, woven from dry grass and mud, and the shards
of her egg.