Goldenrod

In orbits there the skies.  One deep circumference slimming

to tracked silver filigree.  And there the skies shifting again.

One moment ago, I distracted a simpleton with a song of fish and falling mana.

Fremen folds, cloaks and dry trenches washed with wind.  Wicked Crafter,

cut me another fletched bolt, another etched plate.  Blood and silicon.

One moment ago, I caught hold of the cold and gave it to her curled body.