in the prison camp, too sore to sleep he tries to name the shadows that bend
multiply, join and break into new shapes from the shadows, story-scraps come to him
bits of prayer, words he repeats to his children, words they take in like food
he sees a matted rump-patch muddy hooves, a broken antler
Awi Usdi, standing over him the spirit-deer who cripples
hunters who do not seek pardon the punisher who withers legs, freezes knees
Awi Usdi, driven from his land like the people, stockaded, starved
he glimpses the beaten country they will cross, toll roads, stubble-fields
rivers of leeches, rivers of ice sky of punched tin, scattering of nail-holes
that the feathery star-people pour light through