The battle of the earth and sky
after the falling of the heavy sun,
the sinking under the cold horizon,
wandering along dark places,
leaving the earth exposed to the
the cold, cold breath of night
that travels with the
winds of the Boreal,
claiming their place in the air,
the battlefield of
the hot and cold,
the stage of
the translucent bodies
sweating in the heat of combat,
the moisture from their brows
dripping upon the grasses
before the cold air raises
it’s banners in victory,
 
until the revival of the defeated,
the reaching down for everything
that’s left in its arsenal,
the lighting of their torches,
bringing up the dawn,
the rising into the purple sky,
the mounting up on their steeds,
the riding across the firmament,
drying out the nocturnal residue,
the sweat of the combatants,
the dew of the disconcerted air,
and the raising of
their banners in victory.

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