The sunrise was cut in the middle by pilings
of rocks and of magic. And of lightning and grace.
Ah, such wizardry, really... a world washed with whipstalls.
The words in rough heaps that explained all the questions.
The questions unanswered (despite all the words) , the monoliths standing there,
Prompting more. Telling less.
The mountains were fireworks, grounded by tunnels.
The tunnels were endless, buried 'neath stone.
It was all so worthwhile, willful and right.