dry
The hills of wind ...pretending to be stone
in the sky
---
...cold
in the white heat of sunlight, pure
without color or flame...
from a distant forest
an intangible void calls
asif the very leaves, the very fragrances were dried, not of water or life
but time...
not even time, being, body..,
remain just hashes of shadows to reflect light
something that's ancient
& sane
the city
quietly lay on the edge...
if it was said of, it was said of proper, but more rarely at all..,
...it was a quiet place, a place of trade, of doing business
but without the glamour or flare...
no, it was a sleepy place where lived, not the great warrior knights
but knights,
That were a chalice made to carry the ancient's name...
and did so, with a skillful wealth
all grew
the palaces became great, ...the guild-place clean,
neither with rigorousness, but with faint studiousness and vigor
the common cottage was etched to the hill
it was a pleasant place to be
but not that one had a reason to stay....
that one
would readily admit...
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