They're searching for the
mudflats, for the swampy areas, where the still
stagnant water ripples under the moon, where schools of malarial gnats
gestate underwater, hanging from flexible sucking tubes — the spores
will sink into the mud, bury themselves like lungfish, like flatfish,
like mudtoads, like horseshoe crabs, like skates, then burrow deep and
grow brand new veins of ore, of silver and gold and pyrite, copper and
onyx and chalcedony, quartz and diamond and antlers and veal, veins of
veal veiled underneath the heavy curtains of soil.