(Ancient poems, as known to the Alphans at 398 Days After Breakaway. The poems are not normally named, but working titles were given to them by Alphans.)
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.
Trailing edge, the turbulence gathers, swirls,
forged randomness from order from chaos,
fierce sign of the true escape,
to places beyond guessing,
random, random, random,
to uncertain safety,
the grandest risk.
Bridge of power,
bridge of control,
across the deeply
troubled waters.
To the city under glass,
two halves as whole,
a bridge of power,
long untraveled,
seekers flock,
to flee fury,
find new
space.
Only the most giant
can follow the giants,
to make the Bridge
to Shelter Space.
So it will close.