A Quarterly of Criticism and Review i^^^^^^^^fcEjfc $15

CraigB u r n e t tLandscape with CowherdPipingIt's later than usual. Around the corner,a streetcleaner swallowed a pennyand troubled the spirits of nameless treeswith the roaring of its engine.A man on the street accused the treesof worshipping old gods and driftingto the lands of their ancestors.Time needs funding. I kept at it for years, fightingstrangers clothed in flaming purple, dodging arrows hissingthrough the clammy, blood-drenched air of battle.It was horrible, if nothing I wasn't used to.The war continues elsewhere,but I've retired to my cavein the country where I spend my days avoiding schedules.Pan visits me quite a bit, and we go fishing together,walk along the river, play our pipes, drink wine,watch videos—just hang around. "Now that the lustof gain is dead, the pure may rest," he often says, his handon the remote control.But haven't you noticed that the gods92