by Vincent Anioke Alexandre Boucey For the first ten thousand nights, you and Ma sit beneath the leaves of her oldest trees, and she tells you how it was in The Beginning. More colors than there were stars, and more winged beasts than there were colors, and gardens, resplendent homes to these multiplicities, except for swaths where Pishon cut through, that river burnished with brightest gold. Although , and her voice lowers conspiratorially at this part, I favored Euphrates f