Adil

    Upon your ferns and thick spanghum bed, resting langorously as squirrels forage and rabbits impale themselves on acacias.
We planted them for your evening repast to come.
    All thick and covered in stick insects and mantises carnivore-flawless like your sharp eyes in a moment of alertness... you ghost leopard... prowl round your domain.

We live in a cave under the roots of Grandfather Tree.
You are the Grand Dame of all birds and beasts and crawling things on and under Ur including ourself, but we are the one who speaks to and from the Ocean in waves and threats borne upon greater and slower things than these, you know.
Your heart, Ur's blessing beats within a firey black core stretched so tautly across the drum of the acorn-universe Ur's beat reflects the same and your heart is just as full of black and flame, a gravitational wave like an intestinal spasm regular and intense and so massive that small, clamourous gilded things cannot hear it at all.
O love, your heart mirrors the universe it creates.

But you sing it, you make the melodies — along with the Moon and the Ocean, we can only hear it and know it and understand it like a simple otter: That's what we do.