An old myth of the harbor city goes like this:
Mothers were craters then, mothers
were empty-bellied whatles
washing up in the harbor until
them men came and built this
city around them, hanging their
babies to dry and form weightlessly,
codifying the language establishing
the rules and paths for willing seekers.
Women were turned to stone and worshipped
the tree line stopped at their feet,
the whole sky a halo but
heavier, more like a hat
piled hight with artificial fruit.