Down here, everybody says that the River People don't really belong there. I know what it's like to be a stranger and divide a town beside a frontier. People want your business and little more. I've watched shadows lengthen from a close door.
Mountains wide. Nothing is clearer to The River People than what the others try and hide. You spoke, pushed your chair back at the meeting; I could tell that you were petrified. You said the best people can suddenly oppose the side of goodwill, and then it arose.
Two people; four people crossed the floor. I saw children run and I wept amidst the uproar.
Now around here, your stranded face before moonlight, the colour of the sea. You came up to the house after swimming on sunset and the flattened sea. The sky had opened; it had gone bust. And you and I watched the River People swim before us.