(Three ancient poems, not normally named, after working names were given to them by Alphans, on 357 DAB)
World of three dawns:
hideously long blue,
the short orange'red,
and never-comes white.
The desert is damp with
the silence of the city.
Cracked yet not cored,
curves and branchings,
cackles of the cold.
Breathings and bumps
across the glass ring.
Locked museums stand;
noise, static, dynamic.
dead/Alive, cold/Warm.
All can see a lost past,
others cannot touch.
To the city under glass,
two halves as whole,
a bridge of power,
long untraveled,
seekers flock,
to flee fury,
find new
space.