Crestfallen heroes along the shelves of the terebinth scholar’s den. Pan-tiled hills in gray and lichen, dragon shoulders aged, humped, humbled antiquity in foundering flay. Skid and sand filtered over ringed rays of cord. My transient fresh shine blesses the air in the watcher’s columns: deep prey climbs the troubadour’s skulking splayed spire. Nascent breakers dim beyond the scrubbed windshield measure the time in cups and half-cups. White water twists on the face of all the planet, deepened rays brought the splay together under our eye, and no longer nascent the den drops the brackets, and all fall through the wall into smiling darkness, tooth and weapon bared to be covered in foe flesh, to find the unbreathed breath and make it founder in its own shadow.