How did it get

To be dawn again??
 
 

The thornweavers are out

Atop the cattlements,

Razor-tongued in the dull glow

Of rising steel.
 
 

I can hear the ill-penned

Seeking to move on, to rustle

Across some dewy grassland

Toward mountainous dreams.
 
 

So long, and still they

Fail to comprehend

The essence of steerage.