Position, at its utmost
buckles into meter,
losing originality,
condemning itself to fate.

His sister is Horizon,
annal of the past,
coming up to meet us at
the moment before dawn.

The records show that she has moved
but no one here has seen it,
no one can read semaphore
save the lovely moon.

And if we ask her for her word
she echoes back but silence,
so must we waste the evening
without accounting Highness.