They billow from a hillside in Cha’am.   
Together, they are more than plural:   
the planet’s darkest song, a tongue,   
a serpent muscling air apart,   
a dire banner come unfurled,   
a river flowing wholly from   
the old, mute mountain’s desperate heart,   
the last confession of the world.   
Conceive of each one singly, if you can.