Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise
Then with the North Pole half light/write of the valley, all existence atrophies in existence of my mind, memory and sound of the river of the large black foot 4 count desire and the rhythm that and the fish is caught stand,
