Fifteen points of light,
no matter which order counted,
  fifteen points of light become one.

A year of rigor,
well documented flash and swords,
   become grainy, a grid near thin smiles.
  
Bring to me that germ, speak with me and smile.
Regulator of past or present.
  Sympathetic magic, dry bones.

Roots of the low density mountain.
Effigies or in ****** form?
This office, without light.

Movement in the belt of crust.
               A breath moves, another escapes.

Fifteen points of light removed.

Pony trick. Oats I trade for honey.
Hoarse electric wind, not cooling hotter rocks.
Stirring years.  l'Enfer

Wait.

Maybe this page is turned then torn.
(listen now as these seconds vanish)

Avec un lourd trophée à son bras puéril,

man removes himself, others follow.