And on these sacred rocks, these tales appear:
Under the shadow’s sun, feet once pressed
against these warm desert sands.
Those who never tired in their tracks,
told the oldest clicks from the Namaquas,
along such easing banks of the Gariep.
With willows, and shrubs pressing further
on near acacia’s shade and kharree trees.
That, when their bodies emerged with lips
humming N | uu.
As broad and flat, as tapering high; as
small and light as always was and will be.
Along those ancient trails in the Angra,
with rivers’ might and baking Bays.
When all fingers palmed grasped and
owned the watchful eye and harmless
soul of Hoerikwaggo.
