It gets a little cold, a little clarity sharpens the clouds. Like vanquished armies, they flee in smoke and fluttering flags, wild hair blowing too loosely in the breeze.

Over the hill lies the ruins of the empire of the sun; I wandered twice across the desert and found no soul willing to continue with its dream. Crabs clutch madly towards a kingdom in the sky, mad with the loss and confusion, mad with the lack of ease which was their habit.

Where I was born, nobody feared the mysteries of the sea;children would wade beneath the waves and emerge as strange angels of the moss, having found the key to life in the kelp.

All is silent now; Summer dwells defeated in her crumbling room. With sunshine spider eyes, she weaves the heartweb dreams for tomorrow.

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