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1 Three years we waited intently for the herald closely watching the pines the shore and the stars. One with the plough's blade or the keel of the ship, we were searching to rediscover the first seed so that the ancient drama could begin again. We returned to our homes broken, limbs incapable, mouths cracked by the taste of rust and brine. When we woke we travelled towards the north, strangers plunged into mists by the spotless wings of swans that wounded us. On winter nights the strong wind from the east maddened us, in the summers we were lost in the agony of the day that couldn't die. We brought back these carved reliefs of a humble art. 3 ...


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