Let’s begin at the end.
Shy village children sang nursery rhymes. Some stared.
Selfish wounded hearts in the wind, in the sun, through the night.
Their voices Lifting the stranger,
Floating him across the border.
His lips drawn with words like a henchman’s sword
From that day on
The New World citizens remember and celebrate
and hang the newest magicians.
ALL IMAGES AND WORDS, BEN MASTERS.