We stand on either side of a vast canyon . . . The years between. We lean hoping to see some line of check, Some curve of lips before we speak. The valley is green with the first of the new season. We come again to the lonely places, To the country of the sun. We come with gifts for you To suit your talents, your hopes. Time stands at our side And watches as we gaze at the jagged slopes, At the river below, a trickle in the red earth. We open our hands to you, letting the gifts fall, Our hands like tired flowers receiving the light.