After attending a concert of the premi`ere performance of Mark Schult's Visions from Innipkak

We are in the dreams of whales slipping through lush waves, long-backed things sleeping weightless in dreams of long water, surrounded by the moon's broken light. We wander in mystery: the anonymity of the sea, the final shapes of stars that burst like sequins on the sacred fluids that engulf our lives. We are far at sea. Whole herds of us go slow and silvery beneath the one-eyed moon. Long-winged gulls shift their weight leeward, spell their history in the wet and willing mysteries we hum from the enormous literatures of the sea.

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