sight springs; light lilts;

matte clouds encoil the cyan left limping; washed, white, away

from feeling

to feel one has seen this sight

roiling hills of black powder,

now black,

now black,

now sight savours shape; orange opens edges of ink washed white, ragged before the majesty of

soldered with sight and sewn with sinew;

gilding, glamorous lightning lays low that little night, leaving:


the darkness roils on around