Hrossa

The beasts are good, so diplomacy

is the end of their meeting with me.

She takes our offering and begins a new cultivation of city.

Having facilitated new patterns of music and beauty

the only conquest left is outside the confines of a lake,

And only on the docks can we now sit in its reaching wake.

Down to the roots, capillaries are wounded and the

thread pulled to dislodge all seeds.

Lichen crusty, larvae molted to dust

as Brown barters with vibrancy:

Good riddance to an onerous age she thinks

but the ornery beast instead refuses to sleep.