| As if you know the story of Wallowa Lake:
|
| Leviathan first hid in the deep where her children sleep
|
| She kept them hidden from the plague
|
| But have you heard the story of my mother’s fate?
|
| She left us in Detroit in the rain with a pillowcase
|
| Fortune for the paperweight
|
| We followed her to Joseph, near the Indian raid
|
| She wept among the weeds, hide and seek, for the fallen chief
|
| Spathiphyllum on his grave
|
| And like the cedar waxwing, she was drunk all day
|
| We put her in the sheet, little wreath, candles on the crate
|
| As the monster showed its face
|
| As she waits for her children in the shade
|
| Demogorgon or demigod the ghost parade
|
| No oblation will bring her back to our place
|
| She stayed within the deep end of Wallowa Lake
|
| The undertow refrained with the flame of a feathered snake
|
| Charybdis in its shallow grave
|
| She gave us one last feature, the fullness of her face
|
| In the shade of «Hin-mah-too-yah…», Red Napoleon
|
| As the demon took her place
|
| As we wait for the waters to reside
|
| Her remarkable stoicism and her pride
|
| When the dragon submerged we knew she had died |