Stepping off into peaceful lagoons
Where the winds of Kelebos lie silent
hush-resting their fevered wand
The tomorrow lands of old worn shoulders
smelt keys of glass and shattered hope
Torcheres of tar and straw
wicker in and out of consciousness
Tied and leather-lashed
in traditions before this unworthy tongue
mouthed the names of Kruxar
Who, with Tishnur,
daughter of Clatterbone Heartgold
cast light onto the winds…
That still cannot send this
pointilist starling sussuration
into orange spring skies
Not while nihilmist and creepcold
fly flowerchoking midgehoards