 You who can make lightning strike with the flick of a skirt. You who can make tornado turn with the spin and span of hips. Take us there to the place of knowing, to the hall that leads to the doorway of you, oh holy ones. You of the first light. You who know the potential of possibility pulsing in the dark. Deliver us unto our gifts. You who have sunlight in your fingertips, oh touch our drums. Make us hear the rising. Make us move a steady stump. Acquire a voice so