“…and I wept over them, and men and women sprang into being from the tears which came forth from my Eye.”
O vision beheld on Normandy beach,
beheld from the starboard bow flashing,
climbing the cargo nets down to the Higgins.
There I beheld the likeness of all things,
and fell in love so deeply with the past, for I had become intimate with the present.
Was it not like Prometheus and his fire,
green ignus fatuus flashing out of the dawn breaking,
light of the casemate’s lamp, and of sparks that leap from the bridgehead?
Was it not unfurled before me like the wiigwaasabakoon, golden etchings of Ojibwe?
Was it not the same vision you had, Waynaboozhoo, from the shoulder of your dug-out,
as you weathered the Flood a full moon’s time?