If dancing thrice around the split shield wasn't
enough, the bronze razor sharp the trident cracked,
where the legion ****** picked across the dead, as
absent wives dreamed and sensed the worst.
Where glory tore through the heavens with the stab
of a torn standard, and Peresphone pretended to be free,
climbing out of a fissure in the earth, for another spring
of dance and glutinous, temporary glee.