The poet regards her as Titan-born and belonging to the older world. Seen as the ditch it dug, a dried-up stream is easily crossed, like an old art movement, or a shaman who's chanting in the dark, to summon the dead. A woman steps rock to rock over the river, her route disappearing behind her. "It was only a small circle for her dance." Two steps, a slight slip, and the water                     ripples as we whirl and run,                     toward the sea.