Half-buried ruins, an abandoned Palatial excavation;
somewhere in the grounded astronomy, it had been foretold
that the taste of the cipher resting on his lips would fade
with the old desire to solve what was designed to learn.
Glacial poise formed the tableau vivant, mottled blue
by unbidden hollowness. It was then she
lost the will to restore what came before.
Held back from strong flight by a thin, winding branch,
leaves like sage green birds flutter in winged restlessness
Wild vines wrapped golden lines around the crumbling cloisters,
now fingertip-length periwinkles exhale between the
stone triglyphs in a defiant act of ceremonial
Countermagic; thorned spires grow into laurel towers. It is all hers.