The splayed trident was found slantwise in the alley, over the pitch black between the bars of the grating. Fields of worn green carpet shifted with a sound, remembering the days of the straight tines, barbed, cunning, and virulent.
Trading petals between flower and flower, often the labelled lapels rhymed the frying vibrance; found never, fraught severe, glasseous billet steeped in the near. When there was the town chain flail, jumped the stiles, and when they threaded it through the grain, they wove it through the pointed metal, splaying the tines. This was what they forgot, but why?