Treasure bones hidden in the silty, sifting sand. Grains fell between the sheets of metal grating, and down out of reach. Met upon the strand the immaterial code in breaths, caught with dragging hands out over the slightly painted surfaces with their grit. Fine lines fell out without catching foot on spur or speed, right on the anvil prow and the keel followed.
While the woven shuttle was breaking through the crest of curling wire, branched across the thoroughfare, a shaft of glass or two to pierce the fog were there, and papers and belts that bound the buildings and the city up; I kept my broken wing laid up, and now am ready to go down again to the dust to comb the ancient things from in among the coarse frames.