This, then, is what I have given all of You:
All my words—the beautiful, the ugly, the sublime;
All the ways of stitching them together:
The awkward, the graceful, the singing;
All I think about, with a few small exceptions:
(My family, the spirits, the land and its sovereignty,
its well-being, and the last tiny dregs of things that make me smile.)
Once upon a time, I wrote nothing of the gods,
and all my words were of worldly things.
These days, I can write only of the gods,
(and my ancestors, and the spirits, and the land),
and nothing of worldly matters at all.
This, then, is my sacrifice to You:
For a very long time now, You have had my life;
Now, I give you my heart.